


leave no one behind

by chii



Series: leave no one behind [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Gen, Not Quite Gen, majorly au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-05
Updated: 2012-11-05
Packaged: 2017-11-18 00:58:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/555120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chii/pseuds/chii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone is worried about fighting a losing battle against the aliens, against the Resistance, worried about following the orders of the Director, about fighting his battles for him.</p><p>CT's fighting a losing battle against people who don’t even know enough to save themselves. [ AU - Complete ]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Buttercup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buttercup/gifts).



> WOW HI I haven't written a multi-chapter fic in um. Let's say like 10+ years or so, and that was a Mary Sue self-insert for the LOTR fandom that we just don't talk about. Thank you so much first off to Anne, Kia, Crysiana and Nem for looking at this horrible thing for me and pointing out where I needed help. This is the worst title ever, of all time, too, so I'm sorry for that in advance. Also should be noted this fic is finished, and about 23/24 thousand words, so I'll be posting it through the week, probably, as I get things done and edited. 
> 
> I should also note the pairings listed are like. So vaguely there that I don't even know if it counts to list them.

She hates this room, with the clear view of the boards he’s using to control them, hates the fact that all of them take a moment each and every single day and they look up at it, and judge where they are on the board.

CT would like to think that she doesn’t, that she’s better than this, that she’s able to ignore it, but even she does, staring at it and trying to decipher the meaning of everything inside the soft glowing of blue and white. “You're just overreacting. You've always been hard on yourself, Connie,” Wash offers. She hates it even more when his tone gets like this- softer, wanting her to listen, just listen to him because she's always done this, as long as he's known her. He’s still one of the newest- newer than her, and he doesn’t know. He doesn’t see because he hasn’t had time to, but by the time he does, CT’s worried that it’ll all be too late.

Of all of them, Washington is the one who stands the most chance of listening to her. They’re more alike than he likely realizes, but she sees it. She takes her failures more harshly than anything else- more harshly than anyone else, except for Carolina. But the similarities lie more with her and Washington than her and Carolina. There’s a sort of camaraderie that she’s not blind to, with the way the two of them both try their best to come out on top but aren’t quite there, yet. They both see those top three spots and know they don’t have much of a shot at them, but the difference is, Washington is going to keep trying for it, because he believes in this, believes in what they’re doing, even if she knows it’s a lie.

CT doesn't give him an inch. “Not as hard as they are.” Wash just stares at her a long moment, and then grabs the helmet when it's shoved into his hands, but he just holds it, holds onto her for a moment, cutting off whatever she's going to say, his tone earnest.

“Connie-- the Director's done a lot for us,” he starts, and doesn't miss the way she bristles, instantly her hackles are raised and she's angling to argue, to fight back on that. “But, I-- give it some time, okay?”

No, she doesn’t want to give it time. Time isn’t something that they have a surplus of, and if they just let things go, then they’re only going to get worse, and why doesn’t he see that. It's not a perfect answer, but he's never been as good with words when it comes down to it. It makes her listen, though, and he can tell she's still mad, still not pleased about what's going on, but at the very least, she's listening to him right now. “How much time?”

There's a heaviness to her words that she doesn’t try to hide because she knows he won’t get it, and he won’t ask her about it. For all his faults and problems, though, he’s said the right thing. She’s not angry, just frustrated. She’s not about to run off, not yet. “How much time, Washington?”

He doesn't have a number off the top of his head, and they both know it. It’s why she presses, why she digs and makes him think about this, because if they’re going to wait-- if she’s going to drag this mess out longer than it has to go, then he better have a goddamn idea about when they’re going to finish it. It's easier said than done, honestly, but they both know she's looking for something solid and tangible and something that has a date that she can bring it back up. “Give it a few months, okay?”

A few months is too long. It’s horrifyingly long, because things are going too fast-- they’re speeding up with every day and if they wait a whole month, she doesn’t want to think about what’s going to happen while they sit around with their thumbs up their asses. A few months could be too long, could cost them everything, but a few months could also be just what they both need. It could convince Wash, it could solidify the proof she’s gathering. The only problem is weighing whether or not potential data is worth it. “Connie, come on.” Wash leans in, and he’s so fucking earnest, the please at the end of the sentence not needing to be said, not with how he’s looking at her through his helmet.

He’s listening, though. Much as this makes her frustrated, much as she’s scared of what comes after, he’s listening. The only reason CT doesn't fight it, is because it’s a chance. Wash, for all his bitching and moaning about process and policy and protocol, is one of the few people here who- if things go how she thinks they’re going to- doesn’t deserve what’s going to happen. He joined this for the same reason all of them did- thinking that this was some way to win the war. He might not believe what she’s telling him right now, but these few months could convince him, even though he thinks the Director has done so much for them, he's done everything for them. 

He looks so goddamn infuriatingly earnest, that she shakes her head, not willing to fight this much further.

“And if I'm right?”

CT stares him down, grabbing her helmet back from him to make him realize that she’s serious. Neither of them particularly like talking about this, that much she’s sure of. Wash is awkward and uncertain, and she’s frustrated, both of which don’t make for the best grounds to speak on, but at least they’re talking. “Washington. If I’m right. If the Director is the one that’s wrong, if everything we’re doing is wrong. What then?”

She's looking for something, some answer in particular, and he sucks in a breath, holds it, then lets it go. “If you're right, then we'll figure something out,” he offers easily, tone appeasing. It’s too easy, too quick, and she doubts him for a moment until he slips his helmet off, too, holding it under one arm. It’s the stupid little smile that he gives her that solidifies it, coupled with the little knock of his knuckles against her shoulder, a common move with the closer Freelancers when they’re in armor.

“Promise me.”

Wash balks at that, but she doesn’t let him, reaching out and grabbing his wrist tightly. “Washington. Promise me.”

“Sure. I-- okay, Connie. I promise. You’ll see, okay?” His tone is too soft, too cajoling for her to really be comforted by it, but Wash doesn’t break promises. He’s one of the few here who she knows she can trust that far.

“Don't worry, CT. Everything is going to work out. I know it.”

“I’m holding you to it.”


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2. I should note I never really write CT and I shouldn't ever be allowed to but *I did anyway* so if I've horribly messed her or anyone else up, please let me know. 
> 
> Also can I just say how much I fucking hate formatting. Because. Yeah.

The words linger in the back of her mind for the next few weeks.  
  
 _Everything is going to work out._  
  
She clings to them more tightly than she should, hoping that he’s right, that she’s wrong, and knowing that it’s not true. They get sent on mission after mission, and she waits for that moment where it clicks with him.  
  
It’s not the time that he nearly gets killed, a grenade blowing out the tires of their Warthog, sending shrapnel into the flesh that’s not covered by thick metal. CT lurks at the window more often than not, watching him hooked up to wires and machines that monitor everything, the clock counting down in the back of her head.    
  
She’s content to do just that until he wakes up, except he wakes up early, and the only reason she knows is because at three in the morning, there’s heavy, insistent pounding on the front of her door, and when she opens it, North and York are standing there, beaming. “...What are you _doing_?” she tries to hiss, but it ends up mostly a yawn, finding herself dragged down the hallway to Recovery One. She’s still in pajamas, her hair’s sticking up every which way, and none of it matters as soon as she sees that Wash is sitting up, with Carolina helping him drink water out of a glass. “When did he--”  
  
“Five minutes ago,” York says easily, and bumps his shoulder to hers, deflating her anger just like that. “C’mon, ‘nie, do you really think we’d just let you wait til morning?”  
  
No. No, she supposes not. It’s not a surprise to find Carolina in there either, though, and the three of them head in a little less quickly than is ideal, but all irritation fades when Wash’s face lights up in a tired grin. He still looks like shit-- bandages wrapped around his torso and arms, and circles under his eyes, but-- well, he’s awake.  
  
“Hey, buddy. Here, we made you a card,” York shoves it into his hands before Carolina can reach out and take it, and CT doesn’t understand why until Wash opens it.  
  
“...I hope you get better soon, because you look like crap. It makes me look better, though, so take your time. Love, York, North, Connie, Carolina and everyone else.” Wash pauses a moment, and CT’s eyes swing up to York, who doesn’t look ashamed in the slightest, grinning like a goddamn idiot, the smile making his scar stretch.    
  
“...I didn’t sign that.” It’s Carolina who finally breaks the silence, shoving him away and into a chair, as the rest of them settle in around him, with North passing Wash what CT is pretty sure is contraband snacks, but no one, not even Wash himself, calls him on it.  It goes unsaid that if she had signed it, it would have been a more appropriate card, but no one seems to mind.  
  
“We were gonna get you a teddy bear, but we couldn’t find one on short notice,” York says, snagging one of the cookies with a shrug. “So next time you go and play the big dumb hero, give us some warning, okay, or we’re gonna have to get a stockpile of teddybears, and North’s old-- his heart just can’t take that, so it’s really not acceptable. You’re gonna make him go gray, buddy.”  
  
CT shakes her head at all of this-- the ridiculousness of the teddy bear and the hand drawn card, and settles in with all four of them, stealing a cookie from Wash under the pretense of him not even being allowed to eat them-- _protocol_ , remember? 

 

* * *

  
  
  
Things don't get better.  
  
CT tries to wait it out, but she knows, she's got this feeling like an ache inside her stomach that just gets worse any time the Director pulls them aside, sends them on missions. They're collecting things, they're working on things they shouldn't but no one else sees it.  
  
Add Texas into the mix, and the way Carolina's behaving, and CT's scared she's watching all of them fall apart from the inside out.  
  
“Don't worry, CT,” Wash says easily over dinner, and offers her his pudding, a habit he and York share and that she can't quite stop finding endearing as much as it makes her want to protest it just because. She peels the lid off of it, and jams her spoon in.  
  
“You're starting to sound like a broken record.”  
  
“That's 'cause he is,” North butts in cheerfully, his tray thunking down next to hers, while York slides in next to Wash, the two of them instantly distracted with pushing each other playfully to get more room on the bench while North rolls his eyes. “I can't take you two anywhere.”  
  
“That's 'cause you never take me anywhere nice, North.” York gives him what passes for a puppy-dog look, she supposes, though it's half ruined by the angry red scar tissue running down the side of his face. He plunks his pudding down in front of her with a bright smile a moment later, digging into his sandwich, entirely disregarding that she already has one in progress. “You know what he did? He told me we were gonna go do something _fun_ on leave. _Fun_. This guy's idea of fun is not telling me he got stuck with cleaning armor, and he drags me into it. _That's not fun_ , and it’s sure as hell not a vacation.”  
  
“We need to keep our armor in working order,” Wash offers helpfully, but his lips are twitching and CT knows that he's amused, even more so when York throws a hand up dramatically, shaking his head. “I dunno. I don't mind it.”  
  
“Good.” North gives him a look from across the table, pointing the end of his fork at him with a smile. “Then next time I'm unlucky enough to get that, I'll make sure to volunteer you for it.”  
  
The banter goes on unchecked, the boys all gathered around her, noisy and boisterous and constantly bumping each other, cracking jokes and every so often, she tosses something in, but for right now, it's nice to just listen. It's nice to forget the fact she's got a bad feeling about all of this. It's nice to let York and Wash give her their pudding, to see North snag pieces of Wash's french fries, to watch Wash smile at her quietly over the rim of his glass.  
  
This is worth waiting for, but they're running out of time, and none of them see it.  
  


* * *

  
  
Time passes too fast for her liking. Once Wash is up and at the top of his game again, he drags himself up six places in the span of just a few missions and gets his spot back where he was, and is absolutely pleased as can be, because of it. All the others congratulate him that night, when they’re gathered in the lounge past when it’s technically open.  
  
York has a terrible habit of breaking into it, CT’s found, and no one- not even Carolina or Wash for all their rule following and behaving when issued commands-- not even they argue it.    
  
It’s going on midnight when North wanders in and sprawls across the couch, his legs draping over York and Wash’s laps, though the former steals his socks, tossing them across the room, laughing as CT scoots away as far as she can with her nose wrinkled, and South stares down at all of them from the stool she’s on, scowling.  
  
“You’re going to get us all _killed_ ,” she says sourly, and dodges the pillow that North chucks at her face, crossing her arms. “You should all thank me. I broke him of the habit of walking around with socks in high school.”    
  
York-- shameless and apparently sadistic, gives his feet a curious look, and then turns to Wash. CT doesn’t need to be a mindreader to know what’s going through his head, as he eyes the other Freelancer. “What?” Wash asks curiously, and leans away from North’s feet as the older Freelancer doesn’t bother moving.    
  
“He’s going to--” CT starts, just as Carolina looks over, sharply saying, “York, don’t--”  
  
He nearly winds up with a black eye for his trouble (which CT’s pretty sure he deserves, because that’s seriously disgusting) after shoving Wash’s face into North’s feet, scrambling off the couch, taking a pillow straight to the face.  
  
“Some of us are trying to watch the vid,” South bites out, and tosses all the pillows back, smacking Wash squarely in the face as he tries to move away from North and get his socks back for him.  
  
It’s ridiculous-- Wash gives her the most wide-eyed, shocked look at the pillow, and almost daintily puts them all back on the couch, sprawling out on the floor next to CT, instead. “You won’t throw anything at me or put my face in anyone’s feet, right?” he asks, and CT swallows, because goddamnit. He doesn’t get it. All it takes is seeing this-- how he’s joking and laughing after nearly being killed. How he’s bantering and accepting their congratulations, how he’s taking all of this in stride, how it doesn’t even matter that the Director didn’t seem to give two shits about him. He doesn’t seem to care he got knocked down on the list for something he can’t help-- all that matters is he got back up.  
  
It’s so jarring that she stands, passing the pillow off to him, feeling their eyes on her as she doesn’t answer, moving out of the room. “I’m going to bed.”  
  
Everyone is worried about fighting a losing battle against the aliens, against the Resistance.  
  
She’s fighting a losing battle against people who don’t even know enough to fucking save themselves. 

 

* * *

  
  
They’re running out of time.  There’s a date on her calendar that she’s paying attention to, but Wash-- well, she can’t tell if he’s forgotten or if he doesn’t care. The latter isn’t likely- or at least not possible, she hopes.  She means to remind him of it as soon as she can, but every time they try, something happens- a mission, a meeting, something that gets in the way.  
  
One of the training rooms gets reserved, finally, and CT takes the opportunity to drag him into the hallway with the promise of meeting him in there-- it’s a little too open for her liking, but she’ll take what she can get, at this point.  
  
“I'll meet you in the training room in a few minutes,” CT promises, ducking into the locker room.  
  
She has all the intentions of doing it, too. It's a good way to get rid of stress, it's something that she's good at because Wash doesn't ever let her win, and she knows he takes her seriously. She's a good fighter, she's just not the best, and the longer and longer she stays here, the more she's relieved she’s not at the top of that list.  
  
She pushes her locker open, and cringes the moment the little device she keeps tucked away goes off, flickering soft blue lights that means there's a message waiting for her. She doesn't know how long it's been, only that she has to take care of it, now. CT grabs it after changing and ducks out of the room, hoping it doesn’t take long enough for Washington to come looking for her- or worse, for anyone else to.  
  
There's a terminal a hallway away, and she punches into it, wishing she had her helmet, something to hide her face right now, to give her some bulk, but all she has are the gym clothes and her armor is too far to get.  
  
The conversation goes exactly where she knows it will, her heart sinking as she's told she needs to move- they don't have all the time in the world, they don't have time to wait until it's a good time for them.  
  
“I know. _I know,_ I just need a few more weeks,” she whispers, and if her voice cracks. CT pretends like it doesn't, biting down anything else she wants to say just as she hears footsteps and sees Wash rounding a corner, pushing a hand through his hair as he finds her, and smiles, big and wide and open. “I have to go.”  
  
CT doesn't give them a chance to respond, she just closes the connection down and drags her finger over the the screen to blank it, tucking the key around her neck and under her shirt as she makes her way over to Washington.  
  
“What was--”  
  
“Let's just go.”  
  
 _We're running out of time._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should note that everything pretty much was written before a lot of canon Jossed me. :) So there are vague things, like them IDK YOU KNOW ACTUALLY TAKING HER OUT OF HER ARMOR when she's passed out, but nothing too glaring or horrible.

There are precious few people she trusts, here, in the Program, on the ship.  Fewer still, as time goes on, and much as she’s determined to make Wash see what’s going on, he doesn’t fall into that pool of people who she can trust that far.  Carolina-- once, she might have. Now, with Texas there and the way she’s been acting toward her and the rest of the team, CT knows better. North is too close to South, for all that she does trust him, and York-- he’s her second choice, if this doesn’t work like she hopes it does.  
  
Texas, against all odds, is the one she thinks is the best choice, though.  For all the accusations of favoritism, CT isn’t blind. She sees more than people give her credit for, and when Texas doesn’t shut her down instantly- or worse, turn her in, she knows she’s made the right choice.  
  
“I don't know what you want me to do with this,” Texas mutters finally, holding the tag with a shake of her head, as CT reaches out and curls her hand around it, protective. “You're not gonna tell me anything?”  
  
“No.”  
  
No, the risk is too high, and the risk she's taking right now is bad enough. CT glances from her hand, up to Texas' helmet, and pushes the tags at her, forcing her shoulders straight. If there's anyone who will know what to do, it's her. It has to be her. They’re running out of time, and this has to be the right choice.  
  
“It's only a start. When I get more, I'll let you know when to view it. If I don’t get a chance to-- well. You’ll know when is the right time.”  
  
Texas doesn't fight, doesn't do anything but tuck them aside and walk away, leaving CT to hope that there's enough of Allison left that she does what CT thinks she'll do, which is not to go to the Director- or worse, view the data and just leave. Gambling hasn’t ever, ever been her thing, but right now, it’s the only option she’s got left.  
  


* * *

  
  
“It’s **bullshit**! Who the hell does she think she is!”  
  
South's raging isn't abnormal, but CT realizes she can't do anything to help it when South shoves her aside, slamming her back into the lockers as she throws her hands up. CT bristles instantly, lunging forward before she stops herself, knowing better than that-- knowing she’s better than that.    
  
“South.”  
  
Surprisingly (or not, maybe) it's not North that calls her out on it, it's York, standing up and crossing his arms at her, daring her to try the same thing with him. For a moment, she thinks that South will, that she's bitter and angry enough that the Director's finally broken her and she's going to do something that stupid, but she doesn't.  
  
She backs down with a snarl, and punches Texas' locker instead, the nametag snapping into two pieces on the ground.  
  
This, she thinks, is what she meant when she had warned Wash about things getting worse. CT looks up and over at Wash, hoping she'll see some sort of recognition, something that means that he understands that this is what she means. This is going to tear all of them apart and it's all for the Director, it's all for this specific purpose. What he has going on is horrific, and she’s only at the tip of the iceberg. The fact that there’s more-- there’s so, so much more that she hadn’t had the time or the chance to figure out is more sobering than she’d ever like to admit. As long as there’s more to find, more to get, though, she knows that she has to stay. They’re on a limited time table, but the more data she gets, the easier it will be to take him down.  
  
Her plans have to be slowed if she's staying, which means accessing files and data bit by bit, and while she knows the other side isn't happy about this, if she can bring more, if she can get something to shut them down, then it's worth it. If she can save all of them from themselves, then--  
  
“She just went into surgery,” York says, and CT stiffens instinctively, when she sees Texas go for the dogtags, but she just tucks them away again, holding onto them and following York out the door as she and Wash leave.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
CT can't help but think that it's a relief she never placed that high on the rankings to get an AI. While South's pissed, CT's finds her stomach twisting with anxiety as well as relief. Washington's AI being taken buys more time, more time to dig and find out what's really going on here. While Carolina taking Wash’s AI along with South’s wasn’t in the cards, it’s still a bullet dodged when it comes to Wash, who doesn’t know what the hell he’s knee deep in.  
  
All they need is more time.  
  
They wait in Recovery One with her, while CT keeps a careful eye on Maine, looking for any orange flickers, any sign of Sigma, but it's just Maine, only Maine on the cot, holding his head as she's seen him do a handful of times. The data she's mined so far hasn't been enough to explain that-- North and York seem to have adapted well enough to their AI, so she doesn't know what's causing the headaches, the wandering at odd hours.  
  
“Hey, she's awake.”  
  
They all turn their attention to the sound of York's pleased voice, and CT knows that they all just turn a blind eye to the way he touches her arm lightly, seeking confirmation she's there, she's okay.  
  
Of all the things that CT's prepared for, it's not the sight of Carolina sitting up, voice rough and angry and demanding, as she brushes York's hand away, pushing him back. It's just a slight movement, but CT catches it, stores it away, and can't help but look at the nape of her neck where the two AI chips are, hidden by her hair. This isn’t right. This can’t end up good.  
  
“I want a match. Right. Now.”  
  
No one fights her on this, not even York, even though CT wants him to, wants him to tell her no, to tell her she's being foolish because they all know who she wants to fight. It's part of why CT trusts Texas with this data, part of why there's no one else. York, for all his kindness and cheerfulness and for all that he cares about all of them, doesn’t stand up to Carolina when CT thinks he needs to. It’s his biggest fault and she hopes it won’t hurt him further in the future.  
  
“I don't want to watch this,” CT says quietly, as York helps Carolina out the door, trailing along like a lost puppy.  
  
Washington hesitates just a moment, enough for her to think there's a chance of convincing him not to, but he shakes his head a moment later. “I'll let you know how it goes,” he offers, sounding more tired than she likes to hear, and he lifts his shoulder in a shrug. “Meet you in the mess after it's done?”  
  
CT nods, knowing it'll give her more time to dig up data, and leaves, just as she sees the first flicker of Sigma, hovering as close to the window as possible.  
  
She doesn't know why, but out of all of them, he's the most unsettling.

 

* * *

  
When everyone else is away, she takes to contacting the Resistance again, using the codes she’s been given, transmitting what data she’s been able to encrypt to securely send.  Whispered arguments don’t do any good and they’re not subtle, but she can’t leave now. She can’t, it’s not possible, not with everything going on.  
  
It's only the rushing footsteps behind her that make her realize something's wrong-- too many, too fast, and for a sick, unsettling moment, she thinks this is it. She's been found out.  
  
CT swipes the screen clean and starts walking just as the Director rushes past, barely giving her a second look, too intent on getting to the room that they're all in. She gives it a few moments and then follows, creeping along behind them, standing in the doorway as he stops, and freezes. Were it anyone else, she would call his posture, his stance panicked.  But he doesn’t do that, because he’s the goddamn Director. No one ever sees him ruffled, no one ever even thinks of it as possible.  
  
She understands that unauthorized fights are one thing, but honestly, she expected him to encourage this-- they're fighting each other, isn't that the point? Isn't that what they're supposed to be doing? Isn't that what he wants?  
  
“No, **_Allison_**!”  
  
CT's blood runs cold at the way his voice goes sharp, panicked, and he bolts forward. She knows that name.  
  
She knows that name, knows she's seen it in the papers, in the data she's mined and combed through, knows it means something. Her hands tighten on the door, just watching as the others crumble, clutching their heads, Maine smacking at the front of his helmet, Wyoming tossing it to the side, North rocking on his knees, and York just backing away from it all, his hands pressing tight to his helmet.  
  
In the middle of it all is Wash, looking around wildly, reaching out to one of them and jerking back when he realizes it might do more harm than good, just standing there, looking lost as the AI start mumbling about her, about Allison Allison Allison.  
  
The viewing room has thick metal and glass to protect from shrapnel, but there's a PA system hooked up to them, to link the training room and the viewing room. There's nothing more unsettling than all of them collapsed on the ground, holding their heads-- at least, until she hears the start of a scream, shaky and crackling through the PA, filling the room and drowning out the chorus of Allison Allison Allison.  
  
“Come on! Someone help her!” York hisses from where he's finally gotten to his feet, leaning on the console unsteadily, while Wash turns from him to the Director, his hands clenching tightly. The shock is clear in Wash’s posture as he waits, expectantly, because he’s the Director, he has to do something-- he’s the Director. She can almost see his thought process, watches him wait and wait and wait, except she knows how this is going to end.  
  
The Director doesn't. He won't.  
  
CT knows it-- sees it in the way that the Director turns away, and feels sick because she knew he would do this. She knows what he's doing- maybe not all of it, maybe not everything, but she knows enough, and that's what's terrifying. The Director doesn’t say another word to them after dismissing them, he just leaves, like she doesn’t mean a goddamn thing, talking in low tones to the Counselor about her, about Texas.  
  
“I gotta go help her.”  
  
The fact that it's York isn't surprising, but Washington agrees before CT can grab him, can shake him and make him see that this is it. This is what she's talking about. North works on getting the others up- she sees him take Wyoming's helmet and hand it to him with shaky hands, checking on Maine next, and then she trails after the other two. They go down to where Texas is standing, hands on her hips with Carolina unconscious on the ground, and she steps back enough to let York at her.  
  
CT doesn't think about how unsettling it is that Carolina's pale enough to look dead, that she's limp and nothing but dead weight in York's arms as he lifts her, and carries her gently, all the way to Recovery One, with Texas following after, and Wash lingering, just staring at the training floor for a long moment.  
  
“Don't you see-” CT starts, and for once, it's Washington cutting her off, not the other way around. He turns, shaking his head at her, and starts after them.  
  
“Not right _now_ , Connie.”  
  
His two months are almost up, which means hers are too. She doesn't follow him, doesn't try to convince him any further. Instead, she leaves, finds the nearest terminal she can that's still out of sight, and goes digging, and doesn't stop for hours.

 

* * *

  
  
By the time she’s done digging, it’s nearly midnight on the fourth day, and while she hasn’t gotten as much done as she wants to, it’s still something. It’s enough to make her glad the deadline is coming up, because the things she’s uncovering are too much to leave alone for this much longer. She stops by Recovery One as it starts to edge past midnight, standing in the doorway as North eases up behind York. She’s been passing by Recovery One at least once a day to check on them, but York hasn’t left her side the entire time.  
  
“Hey, man,” North rests a large hand on York's shoulder, squeezing it lightly and smiles faintly when the other man blinks sleepily up at him, his hand clenching on Carolina's. “You need to take a break, okay? The medics are gonna come in here, get her changed, and you need to eat something. She'll be fine, okay? I'm gonna stay right out here.”  
  
The moment he looks like he's going to object, North just shakes his head, shoving a pile of clothing at him that he got from the other Freelancer's locker. “No objecting. No offense, buddy, but you stay in your armor for days on end on missions, you shouldn't do it here. Go. Shower. Get something from the mess hall and bring it back. I'll keep watch until then.”  
  
This-- this is what the Director is going to destroy, and CT’s stomach clenches at the way that the two of them interact, and how she catches York wobble as he stands stiffly, like he hasn’t moved in ages-- which, well, he probably hasn’t.  
  
“...Thanks, North. I owe you one.” York offers finally, his voice scratchy, as he eases his way out of the room with one more look back at Carolina as the medics make their way in, removing armor piece by piece to hook her up to an IV, after far, far too fucking long. CT wonders if Wash has been down at all, but doesn’t have the heart to drag him down here and make him see more of this.  
  


* * *

 

  
It takes the next three days to dig through all of the data she finds, searching document after document, trying all the passwords she can think of, and finally, finally she finds what she's looking for.  
  
It's everything- it's everything she suspected, every awful feeling she's ever had, every little thing all added up into a pile of data that describes the Director's sins more fully than she could ever hope to. CT just stares at it, encrypts it when she realizes what she has, and knows what she has to do. There aren't many people who will listen, but she's gotten this far. She's stayed this long, gotten this much and the least she can do is try to help them leave, to try to warn them before this goes any further. Carolina's been unconscious for days, and Wash has been oddly quiet, secretive.  
  
The data gets walked to Texas' locker, tucked away next to the broken remains of her nametag, and then she goes hunting for Wash. He's not in the training room, not in his room or the lockers, which means the mess is next, leaving her running into an utterly exhausted looking York as he grabs random things, looking like he's just piling up his plate to fill it, not out of desire to eat.  
  
“...Hey, kiddo,” he greets, and digs up a smile from somewhere, offering her a pudding. “How's it going?”  
  
The pudding goes ignored, her hands sliding onto her hips, and for a moment she wants to scold him for taking such awful care of himself, but she can't bring herself to. Not when he's this tired, not when he's spent every moment by Carolina's side, just talking to her, begging her to wake up, trying to get Delta to talk to the AI, but nothing helps. “I need to know where Wash is,” she asks, keeping her voice less uneven and panicked than she thinks she can. It's a small achievement, but it's worth nothing, nothing at all when York smiles.  
  
It's not the smile he gives her when he's teasing her, not the smile he gives the other two when they're bantering and making fun of each other. No, it's the same smile he gives when people ask him how Carolina's doing, if he's been there for long.  
  
 _You're too late, CT._  
  
“They took him into surgery a half hour ago. North said he was slotted to--”  
  
CT's stomach drops to her feet, and she just stares for a long moment, not wanting to believe it. A half hour ago.  A half hour ago and he didn't say anything, he just told her he was fine, there was nothing going on and--  
  
You're too late.  
  
CT licks her lips, forcing the word out. “Where?”  
  
“The room next to 'lina-- CT, kid, are you sure you're--” York doesn't get to finish his sentence-- the pudding gets dumped onto his plate and she runs, hoping she's not too late, hoping she has enough time. She doesn't know how she's going to stop it, she just knows she's going to. Somehow.  
  
By the time she's there, she knows it's too late. They're wheeling him out in full armor, sedating him as he goes and CT just stares, eyes wide, face pale because she knows. She knows that something's gone wrong, it's something they should have been prepared for, it's something that she should have seen coming.  
  
Two months was too much, if she'd just insisted, then--  
  
“--Hey, don't--” York circles his arms around her from the side, tugging her firmly back, walking her to Recovery One where Carolina's still unconscious, but wearing hospital blues now, hooked up to a million machines with different readings pouring across the screens. “I thought he told you. I thought, I mean-- he said he was gonna tell you--”  
  
She can't even manage to say anything right now, too caught up in her own failure, the fact she was so blind, that she hadn't stopped this when she could have. They're out of time- if they're going to do something, they're going to do it now, before the Director has a chance to talk to Wash, before any of this can get any worse.  
  
“Connie?” North looks up at her, quiet and solemn, like he doesn't even have to ask, he just knows. Something's gone wrong, something's gone wrong again, and it's written all over her face and York's. “Hey. Here, just-- sit down a second, okay?”  
  
She doesn't want to sit down next to Carolina, not when that's York's place, not when she couldn't help her, either, but these two-- she can do something about these two. She can get the data where it needs to go, she can put an end to this before it ever gets anywhere further. She sits, for all of a few seconds, and then realizes that nothing is going to happen if she takes everything sitting down. She can’t do it. She can’t do this, not anymore. They’re out of time and she’s done enough sitting for a lifetime. “I can’t do this right now.”  
  
Mechanically, she gets up, moves to the door, only to have it hiss open as she starts to punch the code in to lock it. Her heart drops into her stomach for a moment, fully expecting the Director to be there, but instead, it’s Texas, arms crossed.  
  
“Delta.” Texas brushes past, focusing on York with that strange intensity she has, even in armor, as CT locks the door down. “I need you to make this room silent. No bugs, no outside transmissions, nothing. Can you do that?”  
  
“D?” CT doesn’t doubt York has questions- just as many as the others do, but thankfully, he doesn’t question her or anyone else, he just has Delta do it.  
  
Delta flickers to life above York's shoulder, inclines his head just so. “Executing. Completed. The room is now locked down, and all monitoring systems of every kind are on a loop from a day ago.”  
  
“Okay, so, that's fun.” York takes the spot next to Carolina instead, crossing his arms, looking at the two of them with a displeased twist to his lips, clearly not understanding what's going on. “So are North and I gonna have to play twenty questions, or are you guys gonna tell us what's up?”  
  
“I believe that it concerns the Director, and his latest implantation processes,” Delta points out quietly, and tilts his head at Texas, watching her just as intently. “Omega is not implanted at this time, is he?”  
  
CT shifts her weight, turning to look at her in an instant, hoping he's not-- Omega had made her meaner when she used him, faster and stronger and more effective, but he couldn't be in here, not for this. She couldn’t be trusted, either, not if she was using Omega actively.  
  
“It's just me in here.”  
  
The words sound off, and CT realizes why after a moment-- Texas had seen it. She'd gone through the documents, it's why she was there. “We need to leave.” CT doesn't waste any time, not this time, not now. They've had weeks, and she should have done it then. Not now, not like this. “Don't you all see what he's doing? This isn't what any of us signed up for, this isn't what's supposed to be happening. What he's doing-- he's breaking laws. He's using all of us and no one seems to see it. And first Carolina, then Wash-- this can't--”  
  
“I can't leave.”  
  
Everyone in the room goes silent, and CT bites back the frustrated noise at York, because yes, he can. He can, he--  
  
York curls his hand tighter around Carolina's, and she realizes. The shuttle has enough room for all of the people but there's no way-- none of them are trained that extensively in medical procedures to get her the help they'll need to. To get her off of this ship could very well kill her, and bringing a medic on board would only be more dangerous.  
  
“York, we talked about this.”  
  
North shifts, leans his weight against York's shoulder, and CT doesn't miss the little flicker of purple above his shoulder as he looks down at York and Delta too, unconsciously mirroring his partner. “We--”  
  
“No.” There's no doubt in his voice right now, nothing but resignation, as he settles into his chair, and holds Carolina's hand so tightly his knuckles are white, only releasing it when he realizes what he's doing. “I gotta stay. I-- at the very least, I can help you guys go. Distract the Director, or something. I’m good at distractions- I bet I can make a helluva good one, for you guys.”  
  
She opens her mouth to point out they have a distraction ready, a mission that the others are going on, South, Wyoming, Maine, and that makes it easier, but Texas is already stepping forward, and for a moment, CT wonders if this is what the real Allison was like.  
  
“Oh, we'll have a distraction. They've started making noises about removing the AI. Don't know if it's anything solid, yet, but after this-- you know they will. Two of their top agents down, and people are looking into things. The only way to cover his tracks is gonna be to start shutting things down, operating under the radar until it all settles.”    
  
York opens his mouth- no doubt to question her, but CT shakes her head. If there’s anyone that knows the Director, it’s her. It’s Allison-- Texas. She knows him. Much as she probably hates to admit it, she knows him, and while she might not know him as well as the real Allison, it's still a start. “If we're going to do anything, it needs to be soon.”  
  
“I can't go.” York says it again, a little more desperately this time, glancing over at Carolina, wishing she'd just wake up, wishing she'd just roll out of bed and wake up and be okay. “Tex, do you have an idea—?”  
  
The tilt of her helmet says it all, and York forces out an unsteady laugh, dragging a hand through his hair, just staring at the vitals flickering on the board. “If they're really gonna go through with this, if they're gonna take AI, I-- there's gotta be another way.”  
  
“We'll deal with that as it comes.” Texas turns to CT, and she finds her shoulders straightening all on their own, determined. “They're gonna be talking to Wash, first. Give it a day or two, get your plan ironed out, and then talk to us. York and I can do something, and by then, some of the others will be too far gone to be an issue.”  
  
For a moment, she thinks North wants to protest. His sister is going to be out there, on mission and she won't have the chance to go. CT’s fairly certain that even if given it, she won’t go. She’d sooner turn them in, really.  
  
“Agent North. If you are concerned about not bringing her along, I would not be. From my analysis of Agent South Dakota, she would not opt to go along on this mission, not unless she had an AI to accompany her, and the statistical likelihood of her gaining one now is minimal.”  
  
“I know. Thanks, Delta.” The flicker of purple at his shoulder hesitates, and then CT sees him lay a tiny hand on North's shoulder, his purple glow dimming, just a little. She doesn't have one of her own, and her interactions with them haven't been that much, but she sees the way North relaxes, the way some of the tension bleeds out of him, and she knows that not all of them are that bad. It doesn't make her feel any better about bringing them along, but she knows better than to suggest they leave them behind.  
  
“Two days.” Texas brings all attention back to her with the quiet remark, already starting to the door. “We'll move in two days. You all better have a plan by then.”  
  
CT nods mutely, curling her hands around the edge of the chair, exhausted, suddenly. “We will.”


	4. Chapter 4

The amount of sleep that any of them get is minimal, and by the end of the second day, CT’s cranky, exhausted, and wishing all of this was just over, but by the end of it, they have something. They have a plan. It’s not the best, not the most foolproof, but it’s a plan from start to finish, and it’s a start. They have a way around the security measures, a way around everything going on, they have the distractions planned out to a point, and while it’s going to be a clustefuck, well.   
  
It can't get any worse than it already has, CT thinks.  
  
Two days later, it does, and they’ve run out of time.

 

* * *

 

  
  
They start removing AI, just as Allison predicted. It's nothing surprising, because as she'd said, two agents down, two of the best down, and they're going to start asking questions. There's a committee looking into it, and CT knows the information has to be taken soon, because each moment they wait is another moment that they're in danger. It’s another minute their window of opportunity lessens and if there’s a committee looking into it, the information has one more set of hands to go to.  
  
It all goes to shit from there, though. CT's prepared for some of it-- they're removing them, and York and North make themselves scarce, but the others don't take it well, and none of them have been allowed to see Wash these two days.   
  
Delta and York do their best as subtly as they can, searching any rooms they can get into easily, and when there’s time and chance, they break into the rooms that aren’t. They don’t find him after all their searching, until the night before everything is supposed to go down.  
  
CT wakes up in the middle of the night to a shadow falling over her bunk, and reaches for her gun, even if her mind recognizes who it is a moment later.  
  
“If you're going, you're going now.” Texas flicks the lights on, shoves a pack of something at her, stuffed tight and heavy into a backpack, head tilted. “They just took Carolina. She was lucid for a few minutes, talking with York and then she crashed, and they had to try and wake her up. They don't know what happened.”  
  
It's bad enough that CT rolls out of bed unsteadily, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and splashing her face with water, glancing back. “You're leaving something out.”  
  
“They started taking some of the AI. Hers first, then some of the others.” There’s a pause-- long enough that CT’s stomach twists itself further into knots. “Omega got out.”  
  
There's a weight to those words that CT can't even begin to comprehend right then, blinking at her reflection, brushing her teeth and packing everything small up into a bag that's already got all her things in it. “Got out? What do you—”  
  
“I mean he got out. He jumped out of my armor when they tried to remove him. Keep your radios off, and make sure that Delta keeps the ship silent and invisible. You can't risk him finding a way onto your ship. Not after this.”  
  
Omega being able to move independently wasn't in his file, but then, a lot of things weren't. She isn't surprised by it, exactly- she ought to have known that something would happen, that even the best laid plans don't work out right. Her bags are packed and she keeps them by the door, sliding into her base suit in one quick rush, zipping it up. “Is North--”  
  
“Awake. He and Theta are waiting for the signal. You're gonna meet him down in the brig.”  
  
“What? Why--” Oh, no. She knows why, the moment she starts to ask it. The Recovery rooms have been empty of Wash, and while there are sections that they're not allowed to go, no on ever ventures into the brig. Not even York had been able to get down there, but then, he hadn’t even thought to try, because there was no reason for him to be down there. “There's security down there. We're never going to be able to sneak down there, not without York helping.”  
  
“Delta's already in the computers. Besides. They'll have their hands full with me and York and the others. Now- go.”  
  
There's no thanks. No goodbyes. CT opens her mouth and stumbles when she's shoved, the backpacks practically thrown against her.  
  
“Go!”  
  
CT moves.  
  


* * *

 

  
Delta gets them into the brig with no problem, which is only because above, they hear an explosion that shakes the whole ship, and makes North and CT just stare at each other for a moment. “Come on--” CT moves without waiting another moment, nearly walking into the first guard, taking him down in three short jabs.  They leave him a lump on the ground, though North hesitates a moment, and she thanks his foresight when he hefts the body up enough to drag him into a cell and then he locks him up. They make their way down, breaking into each room with a ping toward Delta, careful not to use the radios, until they find him.  
  
There are a lot of things she's prepared for, but not this.  
  
“Jesus Christ,” North breathes, just staring at him for a moment, sick and tired and realizing that this goes so much further than either of them want to acknowledge or realize.  
  
Washington is curled in a corner of his room, his arms cuffed up behind his back, eyes glassy, looking at a wall without really seeing it. There's no response when Delta pops the lock, nothing but him flinching as North steps into the room, and they're both endlessly relieved to see him snap out of it, blinking a few times and focusing in on them like he's having trouble recognizing them. It takes a moment, but he flinches back when he does, shaking his head. “You two shouldn't be in here.”  
  
“Yeah, well, we can worry about following protocol later, buddy,” North mutters, and crouches next to him, working on getting the cuffs undone. There's no way to do it easily, so he just pulls, snapping them neatly with only a little hiss from Wash as he sits there. He's still staring at them like he's not realizing something, like something hasn't clicked yet, but CT doesn't question it, she just offers him a hand. “Come on, up and at 'em, we're going.”  
  
Wash stares at it like he thinks it's a trap, and shakes his head. “No, I-- the Director said to wait here. The Director--” And he stops, getting that same distant look that York gets sometimes, when he's having a silent conversation with Delta, but it's more unsettling this time, after hearing about what his reaction to the other AI had been. It passes, but when he looks up at them, it's with a carefully blank face. “I'm fine. The Director said to stay right here. He said the Counselor needed--”   
  
North exchanges a look with her, knowing they don't have time for this, which is why he leans down, and hefts Wash up, forcing him to stand, even when his legs almost buckle. “We're gonna ignore what the Director said. Come on, Wash, we need you to move. One foot after another, okay?”  
  
It's better, CT thinks, that North does the leading here. He's more suited for it, he's able to gentle his tone and keep the impatience out of his voice, just walking him out of the brig and letting CT lead them back up as Wash balks every so often and North's arm around his shoulders keeps him going. “The Director said--” Wash starts, and CT tenses, stilled only by the way North reaches out and touches her shoulder, leading them down the unused corridor when another explosion rocks the ship and Wash goes painfully silent.  
  
“I know,” North murmurs soothingly, and gets them all the way to the bay where Wash's armor and belongings are stored with all the rest of their things, and it's then that Wash seems to realize something's off. He stops again, shaking his head, speaking in low tones that CT can't hear, but they don't have time. They don't have time for this, not right now.  
  
“Wash, please, we have to go--” she whispers, the loading bay too quiet, too unsettling with just the three of them in there, and another explosion goes off. “Wash--”  
  
North stares him down for a long moment, and then cringes, bending down, hefting Wash up over his shoulder and carrying him up. “We're going. Start the ship, take her out silent and dark. Tex said we'd know when it was clear.”  
  
Their only saving grace at this point is the fact that the distraction is causing too much trouble for anything in here to be watched. There’s another low rumble, and then the loud, sharp crash as the ship takes multiple hits and CT goes still in fear. No no no.  The Resistance can’t be here, they can’t be doing this.  They shouldn’t even be anywhere near here.   
  
“That’s York,” North says abruptly, and grabs her arm, tugging her in with them as they head up the ramp in a rush. “The idiot said he wanted to see if he could launch the missiles-- I didn’t think he would.”    
  
She can see why-- firing the Mother of Invention’s own missiles at it seems kind of counter-productive to surviving, but it’s a big enough distraction that it doesn’t matter, not right now.  CT rushes up front  from the ramp while North drags Wash inside, and tosses him into one of the seats, pushing him in and locking him there with an apologetic murmur. “Can you fly one of these things?” he calls up, and holds Wash down, not wanting to knock him out, not like this. “Connie?”  
  
“...Um.” Can she, yes, probably, just about as well as he could. Not well, but all they need is to get out, and when the lights go off, their signal to leave, she's moving in one fast rush, getting the ship up and running and pushing the throttle forward. Just as soon as they're up, they're out; another explosion blows the windows out of one of the monitoring rooms and CT thinks she sees a flash of black armor against the smoke, but she doesn't know for sure.  All she knows is that the ship behind them makes a creaky, horrible sound and for a moment, she gets a seasick feeling as it feels like their ship starts dipping forward, angling to crash. It’s not theirs, though, she realizes after a moment, and her stomach twists itself into knots. It’s not them. It’s the Mother of Invention. Nothing she says seems appropriate right now, so she looks away and hopes that Wash doesn’t see.  
  
She's not 479, but she's got it for the most part, punching it as fast as they can go, the horrific noise of metal screaming behind them fading as she gets them out of there. Theta slips up a moment later, a soft glow of purple in the dim lighting, tilting his head up at her. “I'm monitoring the ship. You're doing really good.”  
  
Later, she'll recognize it as something North does-- helping subtly, and encouraging, and Theta's emulating it, but right now, she just nods, focusing on getting them up and out of atmosphere, while Theta glows soft over her shoulder, giving little tips here and there.  
  
They make it up and out-- no ships following, no guns blazing, nothing but the deep emptiness of space and the fact that now that it's this quiet, she can hear her own heartbeat rushing in her ears, along with the sound of North clattering around in the back. Wash is uncomfortably silent- she pauses a moment, sets autopilot to on, and charts a course to the nearest planet rather than trying for fast and far.  For a moment, she doesn’t move, she just breathes. They made it.  The thought is so bizarre, so unexpected, that she doesn’t quite know what to do with herself, slumping in the pilot’s seat, staring out into the blackness of space.    
  
She has to move eventually, though, and North  probably needs a hand. Slipping out of the pilot's seat, she makes her way to the back of the ship with the other two, seeing North slowly unpacking their gear, digging to the MREs they'd packed up.  He sifts through them for a moment, and CT bites back the snide remark of they all taste terrible, as he finds one and offers it to Wash.  
  
For a moment, it's not even like he sees it. He's having that same silent conversation with his AI and CT lingers uncertainly, watching him flinch, watching his hands touch his temples, and she bites back the urge to tell him to just take it out. He comes back to himself after a moment, just blinking at North and the pack of food he's being offered, taking it slowly, like he's not quite sure what he's holding.  
  
“This wasn't a test?” Washington says finally, and North flinches like he's been struck. Finally, finally, he gets what she's been trying to tell all of them, but she never wanted Wash to figure it out this way, and never expected North to. This wasn't some event to test Wash's loyalty to the program, this wasn't something to test how he integrated to the AI, this was a fucking rescue mission, for better or worse.  
  
“No.” CT responds before North has a chance to, and pushes up and forward, making him settle into the chair, rather than sitting there so rigidly, uncomfortable. “This wasn't a test. Wash-- that AI--”  
  
His eyes go wide a moment later, shying away from both of them like he's afraid that they're going to wind up taking it. His eyes go glassy for a moment, unfocused and unsettling, not knowing if he'll come back from this. North reaches out to try and snap him out of it just as he comes back to himself again. “It's-- fine.” And slowly, he reaches up, fingers touching at the little chip and he removes it slowly, holding it in his hand, thumbing over the little prongs, clearly unsteady but CT thinks he already looks better, looks more alert. Maybe it's just wishful thinking, but she really, really hopes it's true.  
  
He's going to be just fine, she thinks, and steadies herself with one hand on the ship, holding onto the metal bulkheads, just as Wash presses both hands against his head, the chip on his knee, and holds them there. “Hey, I think we brought some painkillers,” North says quickly, rolling to his feet in a steady move, coming back a few moments later with two tiny pills in his hand and a water bottle in the other.  
  
Wash stares at it for a moment, not taking it; North seems to realize why after a moment of waiting for him, and he crouches, tone softening in an instant as he looks down at the man. It's entirely possible the medics had sedated him after what happened, or at the very least after they'd talked to him. It wouldn't surprise him in the slightest. “It's just a painkiller,” North reiterates and pushes them into Wash's hand, handing him the water, too, relieved when he just stares at them a moment longer and then downs both pills with a long swig of water.  
  
CT’s not sure what to do from here- North’s handling most of it, and Theta’s monitoring the ship, which leaves her feeling like an extra-- something not really necessary right now, because North knows just what to say, knows how to handle everything, knows what he’s doing.  She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, and watches Wash take another long drink of the water, before he sets it aside, staring down at the tiny chip like he doesn’t understand what it’s doing there.  Her first reaction isn’t the right one- she wants to just take it and smash it.   
  
“Can you grab my bag?” North glances back at her, motioning to the backpack he’d stored off to the side. “There’s a unit for AI in there- we can put Epsilon there until we figure out what we’re doing.”   
  
It’s clear that it’s not Wash that’s causing the problem, and CT nods, jerky, and makes her way back to his pack. The little containment unit feels too heavy in her hands, and she wants to put it down, but she makes her way back to the two of them, not missing the way Washington watches her intently, eyes dark. “Here.” She thrusts it against North’s chest, and takes her hands off of it as quick as she can, wiping them down the sides of her armor to get the feeling off of them.  
  
Whatever North’s doing, he seems to be solid on, so she doesn’t bother him. She makes her way up to the front again, settling in the pilot’s chair, her fingers slipping over the controls to make sure they stay on course. The soft flicker of Theta glows warm at her side, and she turns, frowning. “What?”   
  
He doesn’t criticize her like she expects. Instead, he shrugs, sitting in a heap of legs and arms, far too childlike for her liking, honestly.  He’s not real. He’s just a program.  
  
“We’re fine. North says we’re gonna be just fine.” Theta says confidently, and tilts his helmet in a way that makes her think he’s smiling. “I can turn the controls over to you, if it makes you feel better.”   
  
She considers her options-- stay back there, with Wash looking like he’s going to come apart if anyone looks at him the wrong way, or stay up here and pretend like she knows how to drive this thing. “You do that,” she settles on finally, and takes the ship into her own hands, throttling it forward as Theta settles himself on the dash, looking out at the stars. 

 

* * *

  
  
  
North comes up, a few hours later, the AI unit tucked firmly under his arm as he sprawls himself in the copilot’s chair, watching her. She lets it go for a few moments, before her shoulders hunch, and she gives him a narrow-eyed look, scowling. “What.”  
  
“Nothing.” He raises both hands, the unit in his lap, and kicks his feet up as his AI does the same thing over his shoulder, mimicking him. CT hasn’t decided if it’s creepy, or cute, yet, but the more she thinks about what happened to Wash, the more she wants to lean toward creepy. “You want to trade off?”  
  
The idea of sleep is one thing, but the idea of going back there is something else entirely. She glances back, doesn’t see Wash, but that doesn’t make her feel any better. “Is he asleep?”  
  
“Finally.” North shifts, long legs stretching out in front of him, and watches her for a long moment. She wonders if he wants to say something, but he just shrugs, digging an MRE out from god knows where, cracking it open. “I’m gonna hold onto Epsilon. You oughta rest. I’ll let you know if anything happens.”   
  
She thinks to argue, opens her mouth to do it, but realizes that it’s not in her best interests.  There’s a spare sleeping roll back there,  at least. CT stands up and hops down, the thud of metal on metal even louder in the quiet of the ship, and turns her head up to him. “Wake me up if anything happens.”   
  
There’s no way to stop the tensing when he laughs-- even if it’s not at her, it still raises her hackles. “Wouldn’t dream of letting you sleep,” North says wryly, watching her slip out of the cabin without another word.   
  
She settles down against one of the walls, with Wash curled in a corner in his own bedroll and what she suspects is a mass of thermal blankets that North found somewhere in here. He’s little more than a little lump on the floor, one pale hand peeking out from the covers, clenching in them.   
  
Four hours later, she wakes up.   
  
Wash doesn’t.


	5. Chapter 5

“But what’s wrong with him?” She tries, she really tries to keep her voice even and to keep from freaking out at him, but it’s next to impossible, honestly.  Wash isn’t moving, he’s only lying there, breathing slow and even, and had it not been for the fact that it’s been over twelve hours, she wouldn’t be concerned.   
  
“I don’t know,” North reaches out, presses his hand to Wash’s forehead, but even that doesn’t do anything more than perplex them further. He was just fine earlier in the day-- or as “just fine” as someone could be after that. There was no doubt that the AI had something to do with it, but the AI was gone, which meant that this shouldn’t be happening.  “Maybe he just needs some sleep.”   
  
Except, he’s had some sleep, and they both know it. Some sleep didn’t help Carolina, not after everything that happened, and if he ends up like her--  
  
CT’s eyes narrow at him, lips pressing in a thin line, but she doesn’t argue it right now. Instead, she stands, jerky and angry at the situation, stomping her way back up to the front, hurling herself down into the pilot’s seat.  There’s nothing to do up here but stare out at the stars, and Theta keeps popping up every so often to chit-chat, filling the silence with little observations and facts that North’s been teaching him about space.   
  
Eventually, North trades with her, sends her back to lay down and eat again, and she finds herself by Wash’s side almost by accident, staring down at him. He’s asleep, and she knows it but it’s just so unsettling. “Wake up.” She stares a little harder, reaching out to shake his shoulders, watching him move limply, not reacting in the slightest. “Wash. Washington, wake up. That’s an order. That’s an order, Washington, just wake-- wake up. Wash, **please**.”   
  
He doesn’t, and she finds she can’t sleep, too scared that he’s not going to wake up, that all of this, rescuing him, getting out, leaving the others behind, all of this is going to be for nothing.   
  


 

* * *

  
  
  
  
Three days later, he wakes up.   
  
He clutches his head, curling up into a ball, and CT almost doesn’t notice until he makes a soft noise of pain, gasping, his hands twisting into his hair. “North!”   
  
She reaches out, grabbing him, keeping him from sitting up even as North clambers down from where he’d been sitting, crouching next to them, pressing a hand to Wash’s shoulders to keep him down for the moment, even when he strains against them. “Easy, Wash, easy,” he says, tone low and soothing, and CT just stares, wondering how he’s this calm, this even at this point.   
  
“What-- what happened?” Wash asks, voice thick, pushing at their hands only to wind up dropping the motion halfway through, just so he can clutch at his head again.  “Where is she?”   
  
CT blinks when North cuts her a startled look, just as confused as he is as she leans around him, not sure why Wash is asking for her, of all people. “I’m-- right here, Wash.”  
  
“You were sleeping for a few days.” North reaches out, and helps him sit up, bracing his back with some of the pillows so he’s not leaning on the cold, hard metal of the bulkhead. “Are you feeling okay?”   
  
For a moment, CT feels like she’s not supposed to be there, even though Wash has evidently asked for her. North has it all down, easy as can be, helping him sit up, giving him pillows and blankets and adjusting everything so Wash is more comfortable. It’s second nature to him, and she’s relieved that he came along, because at least one of them can do this. She hangs back instead, watching Wash blink at them like he doesn’t recognize them, pressing his palms to his eyes with a muted little groan. “Epsilon?”   
  
“Out.”  CT doesn’t hold back any of her relief at that. Thank Christ for small things. As long as he was out, they were a little better off. Wash’s reaction to all of that was more unsettling than she’d ever care to admit, and it was having an effect on North, too. She could see the way he was watching him, the careful way he pressed a hand to his shoulder, held there and didn’t let go anytime soon.    
  
“Is it okay?”  
  
The question startles all of them, truth be told. CT, because she can’t fathom why he’d care. Why the hell he’d give a care about the thing that was in his head that had nearly made him worse off than he already was, and North, because Theta lets out a little uncertain feeling at being called it, after North and York had gone to such lengths to reassure him he was more than an it.   
  
“He’s fine,” North assures smoothly, and leans in, down, helping Wash up when he struggles to sit, while CT watches, hands fisted in her lap.  
  
She won’t ever be like North; that much, she knows, she understands. North’s spent years of his life protecting people he loves, protecting South and the others, making sure everyone else’s needs are met and taken care of. She’s spent the last few years trying to make sure that the right thing gets done, and sometimes, in doing that, sacrifices get made, people get hurt.  North takes to this-- to mothering, really, like it’s the easiest thing he does. He slides his hand under the small of Wash’s back, and helps him sit up, supports him until he’s got himself braced against the wall, and talks low and soft and she watches, feeling like the odd one out until Wash turns his attention to her.   
  
“Are you okay?”  
  
Just that one question alone makes her stop.   
  
No, she’s not okay. She waited too long, she had a chance and like a goddamn coward she didn’t take it, and now everything’s gone to shit, now the plan isn’t what it should have been, and it’s all confusing and frustrating and most of all, Wash got hurt. Wash got hurt, when she could have stopped it.   
  
It’s not even that, though-- Wash got hurt, she could have stopped it, and it’s her fault, but he’s the one laying there after god knows what happened in his head, and he’s asking her if she’s the one that’s okay.   
  
Idiot.   
  
CT stands up abruptly, looking down at the two of them and starts backing away, shaking her head. “I’m fine.”   
  
No, she’s really not, and she knows they’ve picked that up, but she doesn’t want to discuss that right now, so she hides like a goddamn coward, steps up into the cockpit and curls her legs to her chest and just watches the stars go by. Behind her, she hears the low hum of engines and North talking, the clank of metal as they settle in.  It’s hours later that she realizes that it wasn’t her that Wash was asking for, which is why there was no recognition when he looks at her.  The Director had based the AI on himself, and Wash was asking for Allison.  
  
  
  


* * *

 

  
  
North has to sleep, eventually. CT is the one who makes him, shoving him firmly in one of the seats, her lips twisted in an unhappy frown. “Don’t argue,” she says, and straightens herself, hands on her hips, doing her level best to look intimidating even when he’s sitting down and towering over her. To his credit, he just raises his hands, grabbing the sleeping roll, stretching out on the benches with a sigh. He’s too long and lanky for them, but it works well enough, and if she drops an extra cover on his head, he just takes it with a slow smile and curls up with it.    
  
Wash is somewhere up front in the tiny seat, and for a moment, she’s not quite sure what to do. Epsilon’s locked away, Theta’s monitoring the ship, North’s crashing in the back so it means that up front is the only place to go.   
  
Her footsteps heavy, she makes her way up, and climbs up into the pilot’s seat, glancing over at Wash, where he’s leaning against the thick fake glass of the front of the ship, watching stars go by.  He’s not asleep-- his eyes are open, and every so often, he shifts, but he doesn’t say anything and she wonders if she ought to be grateful for it.   
  
They operate in silence for the longest time, CT checking the ship over every so often, letting it settle on auto-pilot, and eventually, once she gets a series of pings from their destination, well, relaxation isn’t the right word, but god, it’s a relief.   
  
“Who’s that?” Wash asks quietly from beside her, shifting in his seat, picking at an MRE she didn’t realize he had. At least he’s eating.  
  
The truth won’t get her very far-- the others don’t trust the people she’s working with, and she knows it, but she can’t think of a good lie right now, not when they’re going to find out in a few days, anyway. “Help,” she settles on finally, and curls her legs back to her chest, realizing that more than anything, she just wants a shower right now. “How’s your head?”   
  
Wash laughs, short and abrupt, and wrong, and CT curls tighter into the chair, hating it, hating how it’s just one more reminder that she failed. She didn’t save him.  
  
“Hurts, but not as bad as it did earlier.”   
  
She wants to ask what that means-- why did it hurt, why did he let them do that to him, why was he so stupid, so, so stupid, but none of those questions are going to help anything and she knows it.   She was the stupid one, if anything, letting this go on so long.  
  
“I think we have painkillers, somewhere. North had them earlier.” CT offers finally, and twists enough to see him, watching him from behind her knees, quiet and solemn.  He barely looks like the Washington she knew, truth be told. This Wash is drawn and tired and with circles wiped under his eyes like dark shadows, looking like he’s going to break apart if she pushes him too hard, so she doesn’t. He’s looking at her like he expects to blink and find her suddenly someone else, and that thought stings hard enough she shoves it away and finds something else to think of.   
  
CT can’t shake the feeling of something being wrong, no matter how hard she tries. It settles low in her belly, leaves her tense and uneasy and nothing fixes it- nothing will fix it until they’re out and safe.  Not until Wash isn’t looking so spooked at any given moment.   
  
Wash tries, though. He forces a smile onto his face and rakes a hand through his messy hair, presses his palms to his eyes like he can wipe away the exhaustion clear on his face. “It’ll be fine. We’re fine.”   
  
Something in CT snaps at that. Her mouth opens, her whole body goes tense, but she fights it all back, swallows it down and just stares out the window instead of at him. He says it so easily, soft and low and like nothing’s wrong, when everything is wrong.   
  
“Okay.” CT glances at him, watches him settle back into the chair and cross his legs, holding his head for a moment. “Let me know if you end up wanting any.”   
  
Wash gives her a tired smile, barely there, and it makes her feel worse, not better.   
  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  
She contacts the Staff of Charon as soon as she’s in range, keeping it to soft conversations at night when she’s sure North and Wash are sleeping, explaining things in hurried whispers, bits of data and information and apologies, more often than not. She’s sorry things took this long, sorry things went this way, sorry that she couldn’t have been better, done better.   
  
They’re coming, now, though, and that’s what matters, right?   
  
CT curls herself over the comm, speaking in a lower tone, dragging her hand through her hair when the connection gets cut off with a terse, we’ll see you when you get here.   
  
She knew they wouldn’t take kindly to her bringing extra people, but the way things worked out-- she couldn’t just leave them. If she could get North and Wash to just see that they weren’t the bad guys, that they were trying to help and that this was something good, then maybe things would work out how they were supposed to.    
  
She’s just so tired, anymore. Tired of being scared, of worrying that things won’t ever work out. Tired of wondering if things are going to get worse instead of better, tired of worrying about Wash and the way he forgets sometimes that it’s just him in his head.   
  
Her hands clench on the console, metal creaking quietly, when suddenly a hand drops on top of hers.   
  
Fear snakes up her belly, chokes her for one long moment as she moves, lashing out, slamming whoever it is against the wall with her arm against their throat until she realizes that it’s a goddamn ship, there’s no one that got on except for Washington and North. Blinking, her eyes adjust to the sight in front of her and she freezes when she realizes it’s Wash, his eyes almost gray in the dim light.   
  
“CT--” he starts, voice hoarse, and she drops her hand abruptly, sliding back, peering out into the darkness to see if North noticed anything. “...Ow.”   
  
“What are you doing?” she demands, defaulting to anger instead of the shame or worry or anything else that she feels creeping up her spine, unsettling.  Anger is easier, it’s something she can wrap her fingers around and hold onto, because it’s comfortable.   
  
“I couldn’t sleep,” Wash says like an excuse, trying to push her back enough because he needs air, she’s crowding him. When she realizes it, she takes three steps back and goes back to the pilot’s seat, lips twisted into a sour scowl. “...you were talking to someone.”   
  
It doesn’t take a genius to hear the who in his words, because after everything that had happened, she wouldn’t doubt that he wasn’t quite as trusting as he had been. At least, she hoped not. “Doesn’t matter,” CT says finally, and stares as Washington climbs up into the other seat, stretching his legs out, and she sees what he’s got in his hand. It’s a thermos-- thick and oversized, but there’s nothing but water here, so she’s not quite sure what he’s got. “...what’s--”   
  
“Coffee.” Wash uncaps it with two smooth turns, and pours the the first cup of it into the top of the thermos lid, passing it to her before taking any for himself. “North figured out how to use the heat from the engines to heat up water.”   
  
The rest, she realizes, is probably from MREs or from the packs that were stored in the ships for a quick pick-me-up. Not all of them had them, but she supposed this one might.  She’s not sure she’s ever seen Wash drinks coffee, truth be told, but she supposes it’s because they have precious little else to drink. Silent, she reaches out and takes the lid, taking a slow sip of it, eyes going wide when she realizes it’s sweet. She’s not sure how they managed that much, but she takes a longer drink of it, feeling it warm her all the way down to her toes as she curls there.   
  
“So you won’t tell me who you were talking to?” Wash asks, quieter, like it’s clear that he’s not trying to start a fight.   
  
She knows better than to answer that, though. They won’t like that answer- won’t trust it. The ship doesn’t have unlimited fuel, and some random, backwards planet that might not even be able to keep them safe just isn’t an answer. Better the devil you know, right?   
  
“It doesn’t matter,” CT says again, propping her chin up on her knees with a scowl, grudgingly accepting the new lid full of coffee she’s given.  She wants to tell him not to tell North-- the last thing she needs is both of them ganging up on her, but she knows that Wash isn’t the kind of person to do that. He trusts-- damn him, because it’s one of the biggest problems he has, but he trusts, and she’ll use that, right now. “You should try and sleep.”   
  
Wash cuts her what passes for an amused look, she supposes, and takes the container back so he can pour another lid full, and start sipping it himself. “I’m not tired right now. I’ve been sleeping off and on for days.”   
  
Which is all sleep that he needs, in her mind. He needs to be able to get rest, needs to not be worrying about anything but getting better, but she knows it’s not up to her.   
  
Pursing her lips, she adjusts the speed of the ship, doing another quick scan. It’s not like she doesn’t trust Theta to keep an eye out, but she’s a little paranoid. Understandably, she thinks.   
  
“Off and on,” CT repeats, rolling the words around in her mouth like they’re chastising, but she doesn’t bring it up any further, she just watches the stars go by. Eventually, Wash sets the empty thermos beside himself, and the next time CT looks over, he’s slumped in the passenger side seat, fogging up the thick glass with each breath.   
  
She rolls her eyes, slipping out of her chair and goes wandering into the back for a blanket for the idiot. Draping it over him in one smooth move without him waking up, she watches him shift into it, grabbing at it with a sigh, folding into the space between the wall and the chair, and it looks so uncomfortable, but if he’s sleeping, she doesn’t want to push her luck. Better to let him do it.   
  
In the morning, they alternate off-- Staff of Charon is another day or so out, on mission until then, and their shuttle doesn’t have FTL capabilities, which is a damn shame. It means more killing time, more sleeping, and more of North fussing over Wash with CT ever watchful over his shoulder.   
  
  
  


* * *

 

  
  
It’s the day they’re supposed to meet her group that North plunks himself down between the two of them, all long limbs and elbows, stealing some of Wash’s cookie from his MRE. “Got into contact with York yesterday,” he says without preamble, not missing the way both of them tense, for entirely different reasons.   
  
CT stares him down in disbelief- he ought to know better- he heard just as well as she did when Texas told them no radios. They don’t know what York’s doing, they don’t know anything of what’s going on back there. It’s not safe to contact anyone out there, not when the Director could have captured him, could have taken him hostage and forced him to make contact so they’d find out where they were, any number of things.  
  
She shrinks into her chair, her anger hot and sliding up her spine, curling in her veins and not letting go. “What were you thinking,” she mutters finally, and doesn’t miss the way North barely flinches, he just gives her an appraising look. He’s used to it, she realizes, and sours further. South was worse than she ever was, probably, so her bitching and moaning probably doesn’t even register.   
  
“Is he okay?” Their silent standoff (okay, more of a standoff on her end, but still) gets interrupted when Wash leans forward, poking at what passes for lasagna, or something vaguely resembling it. “What did he say?”   
  
Yeah. She supposes that’s the important part out of all of this. She likes York, she really does, but just-- stupid.   
  
“Said he and Texas got out of there. Texas split a little while after everything happened, and York has--” And North stops, instantly censoring himself, giving them both a crooked little smile as he shrugs like it’s nothing at all. “Well, he’s traveling with someone, but they’re both safe.”   
  
She can tell Wash is itching to ask questions, but there’s a reason North kept it out of the conversation. He hates when they do that-- censor themselves, and CT can tell, but that doesn’t stop either of them from doing it, from knowing sometimes it’s necessary. He’s holding himself together just by sheer determination, hiding it well enough, but both of them can tell that the integration of the AI was wearing on him, even if he wasn’t in there anymore.   
  
“I-- oh, um. There’s a ship.” Theta’s hologram appears in a burst of lilac, and starts toward the cabin just as North gets himself to his feet in one long-limbed move, more graceful than either of the other two as he heads for the scanner, noticing the ship pinging on the outskirts of their tracker. “Theta, stop us from moving for right now, let’s just coast. See if we can figure out who--”   
  
“I know who it is.”   
  
CT nudges past Wash, and goes for the radio, giving North a sharp look when he reaches out to stop her as her fingers skate over the keyboard, dialing in who she needs to contact. Realization shows on his face-- she tries not to think about how it looks an awful lot like suspicion, too.   
  
“Staff of Charon, this is shuttle 239-B, requesting permission to land,” CT says, and doesn’t bother waiting for a response, already packing things up, moving around the other two as Wash stands there, still as can be, and North straightens to his full height, needing to step out of the tiny front of the ship to do it.   
  
“CT. You-- that’s the Resistance,” North says as evenly as he can manage, but he’s watching that ship come closer and closer with this steadily growing sense of concern. They might not be firing, but he and Wash aren’t exactly going to be welcomed with open arms, and their AI-- Theta--  
  
“North?” Theta seems to pick up on it, before turning to CT as she brushes right through him, picking up one of the last bags, stone-faced. “...CT?”   
  
“It’ll be fine,” CT says, because it will. It has to be. This is the only thing she could have done- the only place that she could feasibly run away to and bring them with her. DIdn’t North realize that? Wash, she didn’t expect to, right away, but North-- North understood that there weren’t many options. She half wondered if he didn’t ask because he knew where this was going, he knew what options they had and what she’d choose.   
  
North grabs her on her next pass by, with Wash moving to the pilot’s seat with Theta hovering behind him as he watches the ship edge closer.   
  
“For his sake,” North murmurs quietly, and nods at Wash, both of them watching as he brings both hands to his head, pressing them on either side, holding there. “I hope you’re right, CT.”   
  
For all of their sakes, she hopes she is, too.   
  



	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fucking pill chest dude.
> 
> FUCKING PILL CHEST DUUUUUUUDE.

“No weapons,” CT orders, but has her hand on her hip next to her pistol all the same, making sure the other two are behind her right now, because she doesn’t want there to be any kind of misunderstanding. They didn’t make it this far just to have it all go to shit right now.   
  
North and Wash both obey, grudgingly, and Theta stays wherever he does when he’s not outside- somewhere in North’s head, she supposes. By the time they’re docked, tension’s crept up her spine and lodged there, forcing her back straight, her shoulders square, and she speaks in low tones to the first person that’s waiting for them.   
  
Josh is the first to meet them after that, shoving past any gawkers, waving a hand with a sharp, “This isn’t a zoo, keep working!” He stops in front of all of them, taking note of Wash’s pale pallor, the smudges like bruises under his eyes, the way he looks terrible, and CT nearly sighs with relief when he frowns at her. “Let’s get him into medical. You and I need to talk.”   
  
North-- all broad shoulders and intimidating, even with the purple of his armor, shifts, and CT doesn’t miss how half a dozen guns get instantly trained on him as he holds up his hands, tone low. “Easy, guys,” he says as reassuringly as he can, and CT steps up just as Josh waves them all down, shaking his head.   
  
“You can go with him. CT and I need to...talk.”   
  
For a moment, she thinks that they’re honestly going to object. Wash’s eyes go a little narrow, and he grips his helmet a shade tighter as he glances from her to the man she knows, and she realizes what he’s doing a moment later-- he’s judging if he’s a threat to her, or not.   
  
“It’s fine,” CT says quickly, before anyone can do something stupid, and she presses both hands to Wash’s shoulders, nodding him to one of the escorts who can take him there. “I’ll come by to check on both of you.”   
  
He wants to object; it’s clear on his face, but North slings an arm around his shoulders, just as much for comfort as it is to support him, because it looks like Wash is going to topple over at any moment.  The two of them vanish, and their ship is emptied out, the engineering team already starting to pick it over, not unlike large vultures.   
  
“You had me worried,” Josh murmurs as they start down an opposite hallway, and his hand slides over her shoulders, tucking her in against him. CT shifts, angles herself in her armor so they slot together, and it’s comfortable, familiar.  They might not have worked out together like they’d hoped, but it was one more person who had her back, and those people were in rare supply these days. “What the hell were you thinking--? Bringing two of them along with you and the data? What if they--”  
  
“They wouldn’t,” CT says abruptly, glancing up at him, then toward the door as they head to one of the conference rooms, and CT sits heavily, watching him pace back and forth. She knows it’s thrown a wrench in things, that it’s made things more difficult because now there are two more bodies to worry about. Two more mouths to feed, two more bodies to justify. It will work out, though. It has to.   
  
“They’re saying the Mother of Invention crashed, you know,” Josh says abruptly, sitting on the edge of the table, watching her nod her head, frowning. “Do you have all the data we need?”   
  
All of it is a hefty order. No matter how much time she had, all of it isn’t going to be exactly what she has. “Most,” CT says finally, and passes the data over, watching him as he snags it and takes it to a computer, thumbing through it. She knows him well enough now to notice the way that his shoulders lose some of the tension, the way that he glances at her and his lips quirk in a faint smile, clearly pleased about this, even if the material is disturbing. “It’s enough to get them looking in the right places.”  
  
“Yeah, that’s true enough.” Josh tucks the data away after flicking through the rest of it and making a backup, and moves back to her. “I don’t suppose you happened to take one of the AI with you when you left, huh?”  
  
She can tell he means it as a joke-- their luck couldn’t be that good, that’s his thought, but it shows clear as day on her face that it’s not the truth.   
  
“You brought one?” Josh leans in, eyes wide, focused on her. If they have that, then they have the goddamn key to the gates, they have the key that gets them anything at all, they have all the leverage in the world. She knows how much AI are worth and while one of them is something, two is utterly perfect.   
  
Except--   
  
“Not as evidence,” CT admits carefully, crossing her arms under her chest, not missing the way he frowns, suddenly. “The data describes AI-human pairings. Some worked, some didn’t. North and Wash were both paired with AI. North is keeping his.”  It’s not up for negotiation.   
  
It’s a gamble, telling him what’s going to happen. He’s the leader of the resistance, he’s the one who normally gives the orders, but she can’t imagine them trying to take North away from Theta. No, better if that doesn’t ever come up, if she acts as if it’s not even possible. “Is there another? The data mentioned Agent Washington was due to get one. Was it Sigma or one of the others?”   
  
Another sore point, there. CT glances at the terminal, unsettled at just hearing the name. Thank Christ it wasn’t Sigma. “No, that was Carolina’s. Or, supposed to be. Washington got a different one. He got Epsilon.”   
  
“Is it here?” Josh leans in, eyes intent.   
  
“It is.” CT moves back, uncomfortable down to her bones at this. It didn’t sit well with her, deciding something without telling Wash, but there was only so much they could do before they were volun-told things. Before things just happened whether or not they liked the idea of it. “We had to remove it early on. He and Wash-- it didn’t work out.”   
  
It didn’t work out could mean a million things, honestly. It could mean they just didn’t get along, it could mean it went catastrophically bad-- truth be told, CT wasn’t even sure herself, at this point. Wash would be lucid, like normal sometimes and then he’d slip, uneven and unsettling and looking at her like he expects her to say something else, to be someone else. He does the same with North, gives him these looks like he’s confused, staring at the other Freelancer until North grabs his shoulders and forces him back to reality.   
  
“Is the AI stable enough to use as evidence?”    
  
He’s so focused on the goal, on how they can use what they have and it’s part of what drew her to him in the first place, but that doesn’t make her feel any better, not right now. “I don’t know. We didn’t have any way to do anything with it on the ship.  Even just having it, though-- that can only help. We have enough.”    
  
For a moment, she worries it’s too transparent. They do have enough, they have enough to get everything taken care of, to turn it in, to turn him in, and all she wants is for the other two not to be dragged into this any further than they have been already. She owes them that much.   
  
“We’ll see.”   
  
It isn’t the answer she’s hoping for, but it’s the only answer he can give right now, and she understands that. CT sinks back into the chair, the tension bleeding out of her, leaving her with just her exhaustion. She’s tired, she’s stressed, and now that they’re finally here, they have a chance for reprieve, but she’s not even sure it’ll be enough.   
  
“You probably want to go check on the others.” Josh glances at the door, nodding to it as she stands in one quick rush, dragging a hand through her hair, needing a shower more than anything else afterward.  “You know where--”   
  
“I know.” She doesn’t need him to tell her where her quarters are. She’s not quite sure where the other two are rooming, honestly, not sure where they’ll put them. Maybe it’s safest they go in her room, right now, to keep them out of trouble. She’ll figure it out later. CT pushes the door open, hesitating just a moment as she glances back at him. “Thanks. For coming to get us.”   
  
To his credit, he doesn’t get sappy, doesn’t get ridiculous, he just flashes her a faint twitch of his lips and goes back to picking through the data.   
  


 

* * *

  
  
  
  
CT finds them both in the infirmary, with Wash out like a light, and North standing next to him like a statue, tall and imposing, save for the fact he looks just as tired as she feels. “How is he?” she asks, closing the door behind her, not turning the lights on.  The ship is much quieter than the rickety little shuttle they’d been on, and more open, thankfully. She glances over Wash-- out of armor, he looks so much smaller, the circles under his eyes standing out even in the faint lilac wash of light from the little AI.   
  
“Fell asleep just as soon as he was out of armor but he was saying his head hurt again,” North finally sits, almost like it’s an afterthought as CT takes the next nearest thing-- the side of Wash’s bed. It creaks lowly under the press of her armor, but she doesn’t stand, knowing it can handle it. “...So. Here, huh.”   
  
“Don’t even start, North!”   
  
“Hey, I think I’m entitled to try and understand what happened here,” North says mildly, and frowns at her as he sits there, not mad-- though, by all rights, he should be, shouldn’t he?   
  
CT hunches further in on herself, dirty and tired and not wanting to try and explain any of this right now as she stares at him, lips twisted down unhappily. “We didn’t have a lot of options.  We still don’t.”   
  
It’s a fight to keep her voice as low as North is-- he’s always been a lot more relaxed than she was, able to deal with pressure better than her. Wash is still asleep, though, so she must be doing at least an okay job. “Yeah, but this?” North waves at the infirmary, and she knows what it means. This isn’t the best set of circumstances, that’s for goddamn sure, but they don’t have a lot of options at this point. “How do we know they’re not going to turn us over as soon as they have what they want?”   
  
The simple answer, of course, is the one she likes least. They don’t. They can only hope at this point. They can really just hope that things don’t go south, that she isn’t asked to turn them over to the UNSC again because she’s sure at this point they’ve lit up a million hotspots with people trying to find out where they went.  If they’re lucky (and we’re not, a traitorous little voice says in the back of her mind) then they won’t need it to come down to that. If they’re lucky.  She hates depending on luck.   
  
“They don’t have any reason to. They want to get back at the UNSC - and in this case, the Director, just as much as you should want to.”    
  
North’s expression doesn’t lift in the slightest-- he ought to be happy at this news, right? The Resistance will help, that’s their whole point in what they’re doing, damnit. She doesn’t agree with everything, sure, but she didn’t have anywhere else to go, when trying to find someone to turn the Director in to. “And Wash?” North asks finally and isn’t that the million dollar question?   
  
“I’ll keep him safe.” CT stares at the prone figure on the bed, guilt making her armor feel endlessly heavier right now.   
  
Thankfully, North doesn’t call her on the fact that she can’t promise that, and CT doesn’t make any other promises that might come back to haunt her.  
  



	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> c: last bit save for the epilogue

North takes to roaming the halls- CT hears about it in snitches of conversation, comments here and there about the sasquatch that CT’s brought onto their ship, and who the hell let her bring him on board, and is he armed? CT doesn't think much of it--  the novelty of the fact that half of them are scared shitless of him hasn’t quite worn off yet, so she doesn’t try and kill rumors, really.   
  
Instead, she spends her time helping them go over the material from her suit-- helping them recreate it, going over each and every piece of it all until they have a basic schematic. It’s not much-- barely anything, if she wants to be honest, but it’s a start and a start is all they need. She spends the rest of her time with Wash-- he’s awake sometimes, walking the halls of the medical wing, and other times he’s in bed when she finds him, flicking through a datapad.   
  
She takes it one night after hearing him complain that there’s nothing to do, and they won’t let him anywhere. A few thousand books get loaded onto it that night, and she tucks it under his arm when it’s all done, hoping it’ll give him something to do when he wakes up. He can’t read all of them-- she knows he gets headaches, knows he’s not quite at 100% but late one night she sneaks into the infirmary after waking up from North snoring quietly in the corner, and comes in to Wash reading, curled in his covers.   
  
Her hand tightens on the door, ready to leave if need be, but he sits up, moving over instantly, and waves at the spot left. “It’s late,” he says quietly, and CT resists the urge to roll her eyes and tell him thank you for being obvious, but she joins him on the bed all the same. “Thanks. For the books. I’ve been working through them.”   
  
God, she’s not good with dealing with this kind of thing, though. CT shrugs, not quite sure what to say to that, and settles herself at his side, instead, skimming over what he’s reading, only to feel her stomach clench.   
  
“I didn’t think you knew anything about AI theory,” CT says carefully, and makes a mental note to get rid of the ones she’d loaded on there, because she doesn’t want to make things go south even more. Wash isn’t acting anymore like himself than he has been these last few weeks. He’s worse and not anywhere close better, she thinks, and even if she can’t do much, she can try and do something. Even if it’s just getting rid of the books exposing him to this.   
  
“I don’t. I mean-- I didn’t think I did but a lot of this is...familiar.”   
  
CT shifts back, leans against the headboard, and plucks at the sheets quietly.  There’s no way to ask him any of this, no way to bring it up without it sounding awful, no way to do anything without unearthing memories they’d probably both rather just left alone. She keeps him company instead, sitting there as he thumbs through documents, and makes idle chit-chat, neither of them able to sleep. She should leave, probably. Should make him try and sleep so he doesn’t over-exert himself and end up out for the next week or something equally ridiculous.   
  
She should do a lot of things, but instead, she shifts when Wash does, and finds herself leaning against his chest when he moves closer, warm and solid and alive. She might not have been able to stop everything, but she got him out alive. That’s worth something.   
  
“Connie?” Wash tips his head at her, clearly concerned, and she shakes it off, purses her lips, acts like it’s nothing, because it’s not. It can be something later on. Right now she just wants him to be okay.  They won’t cuddle-- Wash doesn’t know the meaning of the word and she wouldn’t ever bring that up, because this isn’t the time or the place. Instead, she pushes at him, shoves him to the side to make way and isn’t surprised when he moves easily, malleable, letting her push and shove adjust, until they’re both comfortable-- or until she is, and he’s too tired to argue the point.   
  
The silence that follows is awkward, maybe, full of Wash’s quiet, low breathing, and CT staring at nothing in particular, watching the door, the wall, and then the datapad with the books she hadn’t thought to double check, really. She’s frustrated at her own ignorance more than anything else-- she should have known better than to give him something like that, even if logically, she understands that she couldn’t have really known.  She doesn’t know what to say, and Wash probably doesn’t either, but he’s the first one to find words and when he does, she wishes he hadn’t.   
  
“The _Insurrection_?”   
  
She can’t stop the way she hunches a little, defensive with just those two little words, staring at the bed sheets with a sour look twisting her face into a scowl.  She doesn’t have to defend her choices to him. (Except, she does and they both know it, but her options were limited and she did what she could. He can’t hate her for that, can he?)   
  
“Did you have a better idea?” CT mutters, and draws her legs up so her knees are pressed tight against her chest, staring at the door and wondering how awful it would be to just go through it. This isn’t a conversation she wants to have right now.    
  
“We should go back.” Wash tips his head at her, and CT forces down the little burst of panic, of fear at the way he’s looking at her, because that’s not Wash. Wash always followed the rules, sure, but this-- not with glassy eyes and this look like he didn’t know where he really was.  CT fights down the unsettled feeling and focuses on him. On snapping him out of this, because she doesn’t know what’s wrong, exactly, only that there’s something that’s not right. “Connie? We should go back. We’re going to be labeled des--”   
  
“So _what_?”   
  
She can’t stop herself from rounding on him, furious that he’s even bringing this up.  This is the same program that inserted some fucking crazy program into his head that was making him crazy, this was the same program that had pitted them against each other for what? For the Director to get his rocks off by doing experiments?   
  
“You owe them nothing, Wash.  They’ve lied, they’ve cheated, they’ve killed people who didn’t deserve it. They’re not the good guys, Washington, wake up.”  She has to quiet herself near the end of it, hands fisted, not quite sure when she stood up. CT forces herself to sit, stiff and wooden like a board, not missing the way he’s still staring at her, but at least he looks a little more like himself. “You need to think for yourself, Wash.”   
  
He doesn’t respond, not even when she really, really wants him to, but this is better than him arguing the point, she supposes. CT drags the blanket up over him, and doesn’t miss the way his brow wrinkles like he’s thinking too hard on something.   
  
“Get some rest.” It’s not a request, it’s an order, and CT stands, snagging the datapad up with her as Wash watches her go. It’s unsettling the way that he looks at her. Like it’s not him right then, like he doesn’t recognize her, like it’s someone else looking out at her behind his eyes and from inside his head again. “Wash, lay back.”  
  
Her bedside manner leaves much to be desired, but Wash obeys after a moment, and curls on his side, pressing his fingers to his temples like he’s trying to drown out noise.   
  
Epsilon.   
  
Just that realization alone is enough to make her even more angry, really. She didn’t know anything about the AI, just that he was a new fragment-- new enough that the Director didn’t have any data on him when she had gone digging. There were a handful of notes, a hypothesis for each of the newer fragments that detailed out what he thought would happen if he applied pressure here, or there, with which stimulus. It was like a child picking the wings off a butterfly just because he could. She couldn’t abide it, couldn’t let him just get away with that.    
  
The AI is tucked away elsewhere, hidden in North’s room, out of sight, out of mind, for what little good it does, because everyone knows where it is. Everyone that matters understands that North’s guarding it, knows that Theta thinks of it as his brother, and thankfully, no one has tried to do anything with it, yet.   
  
CT isn’t sure what will happen when someone finally does.   
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
She and North alternate duties for watching him. North’s better at making sure Wash takes care of himself, bringing food and dragging him for a walk or a shower or any of the other normal things that Wash seems to forget at times. He’ll sit with a glass of coffee for hours on end and not touch it, sometimes, forgetting that he ever even wanted it. Others, he’ll drink the whole thing down and keep drinking until CT’s wondering how on earth he ever can stand that much of it.   
  
The unsettling part is in the little things. The way that Wash opts for food she never ever expected him to ask for-- grits, eggs over easy. Little things here and there that when he asks for them, or gets them when they grab food from the mess, make North and CT exchange cautious looks over his head.    
  
CT wipes all the data that she needs to from his datapad and brings him new books, switching off with North, settling at his side.   
  
“How are you feeling?” CT asks, for lack of anything else to say, plucking at another loose thread on his sheet. She doesn’t meet his eyes this time around, and hopes he doesn’t ask, doesn’t notice.    
  
“I’m fine, Connie.”   
  
She doesn’t correct him this time around, she just settles further into her chair, watching him a little more carefully. Their conversations these last few days have been fairly easy-- little chitchat back and forth about this and that, and it’s not too hard, not too complicated. It’s familiar enough that it doesn’t make either of them uncomfortable and by the end of the few hours she spends with him, Wash always seems a little...better, to say the least. A little more lucid, a little more aware. It’s progress, of a kind, and she’s grateful that it’s something to make the days drag a little less.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
Eventually, it’s North that has to spend the most time there. CT gets dragged from meeting to meeting, helping them go through the data, testifying, trying to get everything lined up so that they’re prepared when they do use the data.  It’s in the middle of one of the meetings, though, that everything gets turned upside down.   
  
“The data is one thing, and while its acquisition is a step in the right direction, we don’t have the one thing we do need, which is cold, hard proof.”   
  
CT feels ice slide down her spine, an awful lot like fear, because there isn’t much to give them. She’s already given armor logs, data, the information she had been leaking for months-- here’s precious little else to give, even when she wants to give something.   
  
Josh turns to her, and she almost lashes out at him, too, for putting her on the spot like this, because she knows where it’s going. He might be the leader of the resistance, but even he has to answer for progress or lack thereof. Don’t--   
  
“The two that Connecticut brought back both had AI implanted.” He pushes forward, and she knows he’s not missing the look she’s giving him, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t shut the fuck up and leave this alone. “The active one is called Theta. It should be--”   
  
“No.” CT moves to her feet in one quick push, hands gripping the table so tightly that it’s a wonder she doesn’t crush it, since she’s in full armor. Her helmet’s off to the side, though, which means her expression isn’t able to be hidden, but goddamnit, no. She’ll allow a lot-- she’ll do a lot, and she’ll do what’s necessary without a second thought, because it’s the right thing to do, but not this. Not like this.    
  
“Connecticut, the choice isn’t--”   
  
“I said no.” CT doesn’t care who she just cut off, though the look on Josh’s face means that she probably ought to, and probably will, later. RIght now, though, her mind is going a mile a minute, trying to figure out what to do, how to get out of this. “We can’t give you it. Washington came with an AI too, though. Epsilon. Take that one. It’s worth more than Theta is, anyway.”   
  
“I don’t see why we don’t just take both of them.”   
  
“Because, Theta and North Dakota are too attached to each other. The data I provided has all the proof you need to show that just taking the AI will only end up making things worse.”  It’s a strong argument, in her mind.  They wouldn’t consider--   
  
Except they would.   
  
CT realizes it in one swift moment as no one seems concerned by the prospect of this. No one is worried about the fact that they’re talking about someone going insane-- about ending up like Wash, or Wyoming, or worse, if they yank the AI like that. They’re talking about potentially causing insanity in someone without a second thought.   
  
“Sacrifices. We’ve all made them- the UNSC has made less than we have, though. Let them take one or two- it won’t begin to match the sacrifices we’ve made.”   
  
CT turns, staring down the older man-- one of the few not in armor, and if looks could kill, then they wouldn’t have any problems at all, would they.  This isn’t what she had joined for. This wasn’t what she had agreed to, this wasn’t any of what she had wanted. No one is arguing the point-- the silence isn’t oppressive because they are objecting, it’s oppressive because they’re agreeing, turning it over in their minds and weighing it like they have the right to do this.   
  
( And you brought them here. )  
  
The Project’s betrayal, she could take. They had broken rules, real, tangible, horrible rules and she would do what she could to make up for this. All of them had joined on their own, and been willing participants. But this-- she had dragged North and Wash along for the ride and now--   
  
“We’ll take the Epsilon unit for now.” Josh isn’t looking at her- it’s deliberate, and she knows it, but he’s looking at the others gathered in the conference room, packing up what he’s brought, and it’s a clear, dismissive sign that the meeting is over. CT backs away from the table before she says anything else, intending to corner him when it’s over, until he speaks. “Agent North Dakota is off limits until we analyze the Epsilon unit. We don’t need any more enemies than we have right now.”    
  
It’s clear and final and so much of a relief that CT grips the table all over again, refusing to show any sort of weakness here, any sort of attachment past what she’s already shown. It’s a liability, there’s no doubt about that, and from the look on Josh’s face, he knows it too. The rest of them file out and when the door closes, CT starts forward, only to be cut off.  
  
“You brought them here.” Josh crosses his arms, looking down at her, unsurprised when she straightens and goes even more tense at the way he’s speaking. “Connie, don’t. You brought them here. Here. You brought them with the data and they have AI with them.  I don’t know what you expected.”   
  
“They defected.” Except, they didn’t, not quite. Not with how things had gone, and not with the way things were right now. They weren’t Resistance, weren’t UNSC, weren’t Project-- she wasn’t sure what category they were anymore. “They’re not even a part of the USNC-- and I’m giving you Epsilon. Isn’t that enough?”   
  
He shrugs broad shoulders, dismissive, even though she knows him better than that. She hadn’t had a lot of options when it came to trying to report the Project, but Josh wasn’t heartless. “We’re taking the Epsilon unit, and using it. It’ll be a few weeks before anyone starts bringing up the other unit, and by then--” He starts for the door, each word deliberate, making her stomach clench with the realization of what she’s implying. “By then, I hope that it’s too far out of reach, somehow.”   
  
The subtlety of it doesn’t go over her head; she knows what he means. What he’s implying.  She doesn’t belong to the USNC any more than she does to the Resistance, not really, and when it comes down to it, figuring out what she wants isn’t as hard as she thought it might be.   
  
“Will the data get where it needs to go?” CT forces the words out before he leaves, because she knows where this is going. On one hand, she doesn’t want things to go this way, because she’ll owe him and they both know it. She takes favors as seriously as any of the other Freelancers do.   
  
“You’ve got my word.” Josh glances back as he ducks through the door, and it’s not a kind smile on his face. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I’d do almost anything to take them down.”   
  
The words are unsettling down to her bones, but they’re the truth, and at the very least, she can find some kind of relief in that as the door closes behind him and leaves her alone in there.   
  


 

* * *

 

  
  
The conversation sets a mental date for her, for when they need to get out. The idea of planning another escape is something she likes even less than before, but it’s what’s necessary. Hopefully, in time, what’s necessary stops being something like this.   
  
Washington doesn’t pick up on the tension humming through her when she stops by to check on him- he’s half-awake, giving her the glazed, groggy look when she shifts his blankets up over him that means that he’s been sedated again, and she forces herself not to think too hard on that, either.  Instead, she adjusts his blankets, tucks him in, and doesn’t think about how weird that ought to be, not really.   
  
She finds North by accident on her part, but it’s clear on his that it’s intentional as he points to his room, closing and locking the door behind him. “So your meeting,” he says easily, and CT bristles in an instant. Not even a few hours and she’s already face to face with this, really?  Everything is moving too fast, too much to keep up with and it’s just one thing on top of another, right now.   
  
“So what about it.”    
  
The look North gives her makes her want to shake him-- he knows, he knows, and he’s really going to make her talk about it like he doesn’t?   
  
CT opens her mouth, ready to give him a verbal lashing, and promptly stops, all the words going choked and jumbled in the back of her throat as North reaches out and curls his arms around her, tugging her into his chest. He’s not even in his armor, she realizes, and it must hurt to have all of hers pressing tight and sharp into him, but he doesn’t seem to mind, squeezing her tight enough she feels it through the armor. CT stands there a moment, not quite sure what the hell she’s supposed to do, and slowly, awkwardly, raises both hands to touch the small of his back, none of the tension slipping out of her like it’s supposed to, but she understands why he’s doing it.   
  
“You didn’t have to do that,” North murmurs finally, and CT huffs into his chest, scoffing. “No, hey, listen okay? You didn’t. You could have left me and Theta out to dry, taken Wash away, or just left us here. You could have done a lot of things, but you didn’t. So we both wanted to say thanks.”    
  
Her hands curl slowly in the back of his shirt and she thinks, for a moment, to shove him away, because she doesn’t do hugs, doesn’t need them, doesn’t want them. ( Except, it’s nice. She doesn’t think too hard about the how or why, but it’s nice, having him there, reassuring him in his stupid, painfully North-like way.)  CT stands still just a moment more and then pulls away, pushing him back, jaw set at a stubborn angle. “If you know what happened, then you know when we need to get moving.”   
  
“Soon,” North agrees, and glances at the door. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that he’s thinking about Wash. About how some day he’s fine, lucid, joking and laughing and while he looks tired, he seems better than he was. And some days he’s murmuring about her, about a nameless, faceless woman who he can smell and who he remembers, or talking about theories that neither of them want to understand. “We can bring it up in a few days. Give him time to ease into it. He had another episode today, I think bringing anything like that up would be-- bad.”   
  
He doesn’t need to go into detail for her to understand what he means. They have a limited amount of time, but it won’t mean much if they end up making him worse because of it. CT eases her weight back against the wall, eyebrows furrowed as she tries to think, tries to work out the details of everything, and she’s almost got it, except North’s speaking again.   
  
“What’d you give up? To-- save Theta, I mean.”   
  
CT has a feeling he knows, and he’s just looking for verbal confirmation, but she doesn’t say anything, not right away. Instead, she pulls her helmet back on, reaching for the door. “Nothing we couldn’t afford to lose.” Because sacrifices had to be made in this war, and if they had the choice to decide what sacrifices they wanted to make, she’d take them.   
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Epsilon is taken that night, and neither she nor North mention it to Wash, not yet. Part of her thinks that he’ll react poorly-- that maybe he hides his like for his AI better than North does, but the rest of her doubts that very much, considering how poorly he’d reacted to the implantation and everything else.  
  
Everything progresses business as usual, with small exceptions. Rations squirreled away here and there. Meetings where she ducks out early, because otherwise, she’s going to say something and blow it all.   Wash doesn’t get any worse, but doesn’t get any better, either, and anymore, she and North take to taking turns sleeping in his room, curled up in the chair next to his bed to help him wake up when he has nightmares, or wakes up and doesn’t know where he is, doesn’t know who he is. Those nights are the worst, emotionally draining and exhausting and something she never wants to experience again, except it keeps happening, night after night, and she wonders if it is partially because of where they are. The sterile walls and the medical personnel and scratchy medical blankets don’t help matters, she’s sure.   
  
It’s during one of the switch-offs-- of North coming in to relieve her so she can get some real rest in a real bed, along with a shower, that it happens. She slips her hand out from under his, not quite sure when that had happened, and rubs at her eyes, groggy, all the way up until Wash rolls over and gropes for something, searching, and doesn’t find it. “Allison?”   
  
North goes stiff, eyes widening and both he and CT move forward, North leaning in and holding his shoulders while CT reaches around him to keep him from dragging his hands to the implantation slot, having seen him try to claw at it during one of the worse episodes. “Just us, David,” North murmurs soothingly, and if his hands shake a little bit, both he and CT pretend not to notice.  Wash jerks against them, panicked and mumbling nonsense under his breath, breathing sharp and shallow and CT drags his hands down when they raise. “David, hey, hey, calm down, okay, it’s just us--”   
  
Calm isn’t a word either of them can use to describe this, though. Wash jerks, rips his wrists out of CT’s grasp and goes for his head, gripping it tightly like he’s trying to keep it from falling apart, his knuckles white.   
  
They force him onto the bed while North tries to grapple and keep him there while she works to sedate him, but everything goes to shit in an instant as Wash chokes on a sob, straining and fighting and thrashing, one panicked word distinguishable from the rest.   
  
“Allison!”   
  
Just like that, everything breaks. North’s grip on Wash’s arms snaps, and he ends up tossed back into the wall, sliding to his knees as Theta mirrors him, repeating her name, tone echoing as he says it over and over again and North curls up. His hands go over his ears just like how Wash was a moment ago, gasping for a breath. CT stands there, shocked, still, the syringe in her hand and almost forgotten as she stares at them, and then back at Wash as he goes for the slot again.   
  
“Wash, stop!” CT moves, metal clanking against metal as she takes two long steps over to him and jerks his arm over, pressing the sedative to his arm and thumbing over the plunger, watching him fight for a moment or two more before he gradually, slowly, eases back into the bed, eyes glassy, unfocused.   
  
“ **Allison** \--”   
  
CT blocks out Theta’s tiny murmur of her name, and works on getting Wash shoved back into bed, relieved he’s not fighting her anymore, not after everything. Once she’s sure he’s not going to hurt himself, she turns for North, crouching next to him and grabbing under one broad shoulder, tugging. “Come on. North. North, get up.”   
  
“Easy--” North rasps, and relief hits her like a ton of bricks. He’ll be okay. He has to be okay, he needs to be okay because she can do a lot of things on her own, she can take care of Wash and get them out of here, but she doesn’t want all of this to be for nothing, not with him and Theta.  When Theta had started being even included in the equation, she wasn’t sure, but CT doesn’t question it, doesn’t try to puzzle it out right now.  Right now, she wants North on his feet again, and wants him next to Wash so they’re all okay, because too much has happened to let it all just go to shit.   
  
The two of them settle in next to Wash, with North collapsing heavily into the chair and CT sinking into the bed with a creak of springs and metal, Wash not even stirring. “We need to get him _real_ help.”   
  
For a moment, she doesn’t know who voices it. They’ve both been thinking it for weeks now, that Wash isn’t okay, isn’t doing better and just leaving it alone isn’t going to help matters in the slightest. North leans in, meeting her eyes, his tone far more serious than usual. “Connie. I mean it. He needs real help. We can’t keep on watch like this all the time and being here isn’t helping, anymore.”   
  
It wasn’t helping him before, either, past being a place that they could hide out but CT doesn’t argue the point, not when she’s too worn down to. “Tomorrow, then,” she says quietly, standing. There are preparations they have to make, and North needs to watch over Wash, so they fall to her.    
  
She lingers a moment more to see if he wants anything else, but the silence in the room is enough. CT slips out the door, and heads for North’s room to start gathering things up, moving quickly, efficiently.  How Josh figures it out, she doesn’t know.  What she does know, is that one moment she’s got North supporting Wash in the hallway, the latter barely there, but coherent enough to understand they needed him to move, and the next, Josh is rounding a corner, palming her the access codes to one of the pelicans in the docking bay.    
  
North watches the whole interaction intently, and CT stares at the codes a moment, before her stare gets leveled up at Josh.   
  
“We haven’t had time to process it yet. Take a look for me, Connie.”    
  
It’s a goodbye as much as it can be. He looks over the sight of Wash draped over North’s shoulder, over the packed bags and the guns and rations and everything else. For a moment, CT doesn’t quite know what to say, so she settles on nothing at all, focusing on what they need to get done.   
  
“I’ll do that.”  
  
He doesn’t stop her, doesn’t try to say anything else. Instead, he moves to the side to let them pass, and then keeps on going, while North helps Wash on-board, and CT scrambles for the pilot’s seat.   
  
Theta flickers on after a moment of hesitation, easing his way into the systems, and she doesn’t miss the way his helmet tilts and he looks up at her, the smile audible in his voice and in his posture. “I’m ready when you are, Connie.”      
  
She thinks to correct him-- to stop him from calling her that because she can’t get attached, can’t do something that stupid, that dangerous, not in times like this.   
  
“Ready.”  CT places her hands on the controls, and gives him access to the codes so he can get into the entirety of the system. North is in the back getting Wash settled, and once she sees the all clear, she pushes the throttle forward, and shoots them out and into space, the ship rattling around them.   
  



	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once more, thank you so much to Nem, Anne, Crysiana, and Kia for all your help. :( They polished this thing up until it made sense and were generally amazing. 
> 
> SO IT'S WORTH IT TO NOTE TOO THAT UH, I just realized not all my italics carried over so FML I'LL BE DOING THAT THE NEXT HOUR. /SHAKES FIST. 
> 
> Any thoughts are really welcome- positive or negative. It's the longest, most drawn-out fic I've ever written, so yeah. 
> 
> :>

Restlessness is to be expected.    
  
North repeats it over and over again, the words becoming more common than any of the three of them like.   Restlessness settles over them, heavy and oppressive. It makes North pace, it makes Wash anxious, and it makes CT frustrated.  
  
“But really,” North murmurs, low and soothing as he and Wash work on the dishes and CT watches, lips twisted in a scowl around the spoon as she eats her ice cream. “Considering how much we were doing before- missions, going out, doing recon and all of the work we spent years training for? Being restless isn’t exactly a surprise.”  
  
And neither is him being fairly understanding about it, but it just makes CT hunch over her ice cream a little tighter, more frustrated.  They were living the life they had all tried to run for, the one they had risked their lives for, the one they had tried and nearly failed at getting. They were living a life where they had jobs, and income and a house and a cat, and it’s all so painfully normal that CT can’t fathom why none of them seem as happy over it.    
  
She tries to work it over in her mind, over and over and over again. She spends hours thinking over it, trying to pick it apart and analyze it and figure out why this house in the city with their jobs and the knowledge that their lives aren’t in danger isn’t enough, because it should be. It needs to be. They got out, they got Wash help, someone to talk to who can actually do something more than just hold him down when he can’t tell the difference between who he is and who was in him. By all rights, this should be enough.  
  
Surprisingly-- or maybe not, the more she thinks about it, it’s Wash that figures it out.  
  
He’s cutting pizza with quick, methodical strokes of the pizza cutter-- some god awful orange monstrosity she had picked up mostly out of surprise at it existing-- and when the slices are cut, he piles two on each plate, bringing them to the table.    
  
“It’s because it’s just us.”    
  
“What’s that supposed to mean?” CT asks sharply before she can stop herself, but Washington doesn’t cringe and North only looks thoughtful and she knows. She understands, just like that.  
  
The Director had picked a team, he had used a team, and while he had ultimately been the tool that broke it into a million pieces and encouraged it to tear itself apart, they were still a team. CT might not consider herself a part of it, but she knows that look on North’s face- she’s seen it hundreds of times when something reminds him of home, of his sister, of everything they left behind. It hasn’t been easy on him or Wash.  
  
“We don’t even know who’s left, by this point,” CT spits, stabbing at her ice cream a little more angrily, because it’s true. She doesn’t know who’s still alive, who made it out of the clusterfuck that had almost gotten all of them killed. Who they had failed to save.     
  
They don’t talk much about it that night, but she can see it in the way Wash keeps close to the radio, the way North checks their mail every single day, the way all of them are acting, that it’s settling heavier on all of them, until nearly a month later, she dumps maps and datapads and other supplies on the kitchen table. Wash has the decency to jump, but North doesn’t even look surprised, smiling at her over the rim of his glass.  
  
“Don’t look smug,” CT mutters, and snags her own glass, as Wash reaches out and starts looking through what she’s brought, realization swimming over his face. For a moment, she thinks to tell him that he can’t come. That he’s not well enough, that he can’t come because he’s only just started getting better and it’s a slow, slow process that she doesn’t want to see messed up, but she knows that it wouldn’t work. “I don’t have any concrete locations.”  
  
Theta flashes to life over North’s shoulder, peering over it curiously, flickering down to one of the datapads, and CT watches light bleed up into it, data flitting over the screen blindingly fast as he searches. “I think I can find a place to start!” he says cheerfully, and glances from North to CT.  
  
She’s learned by now that the particular tilt of his helmet means he’s smiling and she hunches further over, shoulders drawn up tense. “I just didn’t want to deal with everyone moping,” CT mutters, and everyone looks up at the little ding as the datapad stops its whirring through pictures, and settles on a location on a map.    
  
“There were rumors of someone in purple armor on the outskirts of a few towns and--” Theta brings up a news article that makes North bark out a sharp, startled laugh, his fingers tracing over the screen with what could only be called affection.  
  
“A bar fight? Well. It’s a place to start.”  North’s smiling, though, wide and pleased and looking at a larger picture of a map, letting Theta project it up over their kitchen table, running his fingers over the little trail of marks that Theta’s put together that signifies possible locations of South. “Theta, can you do the same thing and look for any of the others, too?”  
  
“Umm-- sure, I think so. I’m not as good as Delta would be at this, but--”  
  
“You’ll be just fine, Theta.”  
  
Even Washington is leaning forward, gray eyes intent as he watches the map light up with little specks of color, the specks bleeding out into lines and points on the map. It takes CT only a moment to figure out that brighter means Theta’s more likely it’s them, and dimmer means it’s only possible.     
  
She’s no fool. She’d gotten the supplies, the tools, the weapons, everything they needed because she knew this was where this was going. This was what it was all leading up to, and watching the way North brightens and Wash looks a little more alive, well, she can’t quite be too upset about it.  
  
“There’s a transport off-planet in three days,” CT says finally and watches North’s face light up, watches Wash lean back in his chair like he’s been anticipating this, or maybe it’s just that he’s been so restless that it’s a relief to have something. They’re all idiots-- escaping and then going back, knowing that it might mean going right back into the lion’s den. Maybe the Resistance did what it needed to- maybe the Director’s downfall was quiet and that’s why they hadn’t seen it in the news. Doubtful, but she can hope. “This is a stupid idea.”  
  
Stupid, but Wash is already reaching out and touching the hologram where there’s a faint trail of gold and black meeting up with teal and the subsequent warrants for arrest that pop up, listing three someones that are too close to those three to be a coincidence. CT sees the way both boys react, North’s eyes going wide and Wash just staring, fingers touching the line faintly.    
  
“It’s just a rough--” Theta murmurs and starts to shrink down until Wash reaches out, abrupt and startling, keeping him from vanishing.  
  
“No. It’s good.”  
  
Something weird catches in her throat, makes it tight and dry and scratchy. Wash had started this whole mess carefully avoiding Theta when he was out, and had only recently started getting better at even being in the same room without flinching. But this--  
  
Wash seems to realize what he’s done and CT swallows back her disappointment as he closes back up and shifts his chair back, jamming his hands in his pockets, staring at his cup instead. North-- always North, because he still gets Wash better than she does, reaches out and grips Wash’s shoulder with his free hand, his other slipping under Theta’s hologram. He smiles warmly at the three of them. “Wash is right, buddy. It’s good. Can you keep an eye out for any of them while we’re on the move?”  
  
It’s good for Theta in a number of ways and they all know it. AI- smart or not, need to be able to think and giving him something to do besides monitor their security system or other miscellaneous tasks, is a good thing. “I can,” Theta agrees, and vanishes with a little flash, leaving North to scoot his chair over and bump his shoulder against Wash’s to shake him out of whatever mental trap he’s caught himself in.    
  
They’re really going to do it, CT realizes, and holds her drink a little tighter, watches them a little more intently. They’re going to put this place they’ve settled into on hold, and they’re going to hunt down the very program that they’d left behind-- the very program that got all of them killed, almost.  She tries to be more upset about the idea, but truth is she’s just as restless as they are and the idea of getting out and doing something-- of finishing what she had started-- it’s a good one.  
  
“Three days,” Wash says quietly, voice a little more firm, and is echoed by North.  
  
Three days from then finds them renting the next transport off planet, armor settling heavy and familiar over their shoulders, even after months of it sitting there gathering dust. Three days from then finds North in the copilot’s chair, while CT mans the pilot’s, and Wash stands steady between the two of them, a hand on each chair, tall and straight and steady as they take off.


End file.
